We have our hearts in fog
Lurking in the hidden mists
Looking out for the bog
We have to hold to the kiss
We have our eyes in smoke
Taking any shiny glint
Tasting any splight of hope
We have devoured food with flint
We have our hands in steam
Yoking through the burning fact
Yelping through they’re kept clean
We have our hands burnt and cracked.
No comments:
Post a Comment