Gypsy trash
Iām one of the ones They came in from the road This fire burns on invisible ink A slow quiet panic translates as blinking lights . . Words that no longer meanā words used the way they donāt seemā Who lost their face in the dark casting shadows lit up by the fire burns on invisible inkā Who went out of the way to let go even though there was no undoing our inheritanceā A steady drumbeat swingsāā¦
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