patient fingers never pick up the pen
the books we could write of what isn't known
only half of the heart is worn on a sleeve
what a man borrows, he thinks he can own
what a man owns is that which he sees
am I throwing a rock or skipping a stone?
the books we could write of what isn't known
only half of the heart is worn on a sleeve
what a man borrows, he thinks he can own
what a man owns is that which he sees
am I throwing a rock or skipping a stone?
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