when one thing ends where do i go
sitting on the back porch looking out at the snow
i see a solitary red light glow i guess my dad smokesand there may be no grace in death but there sure is grace in the way you danced with me at the union tea it's okay that you're always looking for more lifehow do i know what i was meant formy hands have been changing slowly but surely into things not meant to create and i stand by, and i stand by
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