Monday, 25 October 2010

The biting cold.

These faintly played guitar notes, they tell you stories. Not the kind that you would tell to your children and grandchildren, the kind you would blurt out during spiritual confessions.
These belted out words relate to you the tales you spill when passing around that 40.
That bassline, it pulls you into other people's novels, and maybe you don't want to escape.

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