poets of old sat before the firelight sang the songs of the gods beckoned them to flight but now i sit, just me, in a lonely room, and beckon me, and the echoes reverberate off a white ceiling and i wonder who was more deceived? and when beauty finds me? Who is it?
poets of old
poets of old sat before the firelight sang the songs of the gods beckoned them to flight but now i sit, just me, in a lonely room, and beckon me, and the echoes reverberate off a white ceiling and i wonder who was more deceived? and when beauty finds me? Who is it?