In the arms of the late afternoon,
I dreamt I was another.
Birdsong broke through the window,
dancing with the soft light of a summer Sunday,
and I was horrified,
venturing so close to the sun that her face looked like the gates of Hell.
In the arms of the late afternoon,
I dreamt I was another.
Birdsong broke through the window,
dancing with the soft light of a summer Sunday,
and I was horrified,
venturing so close to the sun that her face looked like the gates of Hell.
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