when sorrow calls in clear ringing bells across corridors fresh in my mind and sullen sunken eyes tell tales of a lovers remorse too cold like the biting of a winters wind so cold in fact that only the sad sun of a cigarette can keep you warm the only light visible in the eclipse of a heart .and you would cut your skin in rebellion " so futile" would whisper the willow for as sure as the next winter sorrow will call again .
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