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Poetry: Kisses
suposed interlude
by Franz Nietz

the soul of silence departs
time is but a fresh concave of mystery
steal my thoughts
the fire is dying
live in our world without
a heart

fog in the night time
isn't noticed
as the sun collapses
into the moon
we are all lairs at
dawn.

time is wasted
time is wasted
time is wasted
time is wasted.

 
 
 
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