You know, those black mountains holding the golden warm light, need not to remind me twice, time is a way of feeling in control, an illusion.
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Untold Whispers
PoetryYour time's running, what will you say? What will remain untold? HR #64 in Poetry
Resting Dawn
You know, those black mountains holding the golden warm light, need not to remind me twice, time is a way of feeling in control, an illusion.
