Haunted by lust, serenading the blip, doubt is God, a one-way trip. Covens corral the curse of chatter, facades and charades serve broken glass on a platter. Scarlet skies attract the stars like flies, layers of lies, grease hollow hi’s. No escape. Constant intrigue. Moments of moaning. Fatigue.
Added 2024-10-27 23:57:04 +0000 UTC“Hollow Hi’s” by JRT
