martes, 11 de abril de 2006

Every, where...

Wherever you go...
Whatever you need.

Every rose has its thorn...
Every finger is coming away...

Every back is just a back, but...
yours

I'm sleeping, and something red is pending over my head...

isn't a bed of nails
aren't you?
something that will crash

a car coming over your head

a love breaking down

and you, and me...




something going under.
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