Eight Line Poem

The tactful cactus by your window
Surveys the prairie of your room
The mobile spins to its collision
Clara puts her head between her paws
They've opened shops down West side
Will all the cacti find a home
But the key to the city
Is in the sun that pins the branches to the sky

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Бледные поганки съем, чтобы не проснуться, Чтобы завтра в белый день к расстройству не вернутся. Моя девочка плачет, мой котёнок не спит, Сгнили все сливы, и душа... И нет более глупых и нелепых слов, Что

There's still black marks on that county road Where we drag raced our pickups, and mustangs And weathered all the sun and rain And to this day up on that overpass Even underneath the

A little game of falling down, You rock 'n' roll when the call come 'round, Come on baby, and make some time, Made in the shade and you wished it'd turned around, You're gonna

it was a home run when the game was tied a pick up truck when I could drive one pink line when katie said I'm late it was a passing grade, a pretty

Tarnished mirror in the hall Reflects the ghosts that come to call Dressed in dusty silken gowns Dancing in the shadowed sounds Eyes like echoes not quite there Should be dead but instead stare Behind me