Is this not the same place in which most men die?
It’s Pouring – Revisited
There's nothing left inside// the ink well is dry, my hand was stayed// nothing more to confide// silence on an empty stage
On the Backs of Vagabonds
The air I breathe is stifling me I swear I'll run away when I've got all I need to pave The safe road, brick by brick, stone by stone And then I realize the ground ends at the sky So I'll affix some wings and catch the warm breeze in spring But for now in... Continue Reading →
December Rose 