I whistle to birds -
my breaths are caught
in a new rhythm.
What of my words?
I believe they've gone,
gone with him?
Golden footprints
I leave behind;
he's sculpting me a fire.
I long to be heard,
as I flow a muteness -
there's something within.
I whistle to birds -
my breaths are caught
in a new rhythm.
my breaths are caught
in a new rhythm.
What of my words?
I believe they've gone,
gone with him?
Golden footprints
I leave behind;
he's sculpting me a fire.
I long to be heard,
as I flow a muteness -
there's something within.
I whistle to birds -
my breaths are caught
in a new rhythm.
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