smenville
What have we created my dear...art, beauty, love or some form of a monster that will destroy me, you and him...what have we created with our inside looks and tender touches in hidden moments...a song, that is as happy as it is sad.
Crosses, what a beaten...broken and bruised piece of wood...to hold the sins of those who hang...and when they put the sinless it was heaviest of all
She walked down the lline of fences, counting only odd numbers.
This is how we walk here she thinks
Over, around and touching fences
Blocked in for safety