There's a boot with loose laces,
the loot of time.
So worn, so brown,
so full of the dusk.
Not worth a dime.
Forgotten by the very soul
who'd let it drink
from every pool.
It lingers by the doorstep,
this confused can of nothing -
who knows what fills it up:
the shrinkage only grows.
the loot of time.
So worn, so brown,
so full of the dusk.
Not worth a dime.
Forgotten by the very soul
who'd let it drink
from every pool.
It lingers by the doorstep,
this confused can of nothing -
who knows what fills it up:
the shrinkage only grows.
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