"could i forge a key you could wear in hair to forget about me?", she asks along with the melody that squalls between us, to no one in particular, making her own lyrics in the gale, taser guitar predicting brilliant flashes while the cavernous drums put punctuation to her question, fluttering the wings of the open secret on her collarbone, as the silence swells she says, "we should listen to the new no age record again".
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