I'm going back to the time when we owned this town. Down Powder Mill Lane, in the battlegrounds. We were friends and lovers and clueless clowns. . I didn't know I was finding out how I'd be torn from you.
The sun bleeds in. Hear the magpies sing for sorrow. It makes things better. Maybe we'll get to spread. Our wings tomorrow. If luck will let us. Can anyone fly into these grey skies?.