And we are the mountain wolves running in the busy streets.
There is something about the windy rain tonight.
Mermaids howled to the full moon in their grotto.
My summer palette has been stepped on a dead abyss.
With a handful of sands, and a pocketful of wittiness.
We'll sail the dead with our transparent hands, and lucid spells together.
(I've never been so found before)
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