When the fog comes rolling
through the avenues
something leaves my mind
gifted in November underneath
the elms in all the dying lines
The mirage and the echo
of the life we live
gently leaving me
break the fever, square the lines,
strange geometry
Six Of SpadesWhen the fog comes rolling through the avenues something leaves my mind gifted in November underneath the elms in all the dying lines The mirage and the echo of the life we live gently leaving me break the fever, square the lines, strange geometry |