Friday, July 01, 2005

Protempore Gone

i get tired...
there are ten times i hide behind this shoulder,
the shoulder that you made for me.
oh friend, listen...
let them feel your hands, let them laugh with you,
between the buried you, and the embraced me,
there is nothing but the pain exists.

i get tired,
there are eleven times i hide behind the shoulder,
the shoulder that you produce for me.


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