The language drifting from my lips
follows a current I can't predict.
It springs deep from within my lungs,
catches on the crooked banks of psalms,
erodes mountains of indecision,
while polishing rocks with new rhythm.
The language drifting from my lips
follows a current I can't predict.
It springs deep from within my lungs,
catches on the crooked banks of psalms,
erodes mountains of indecision,
while polishing rocks with new rhythm.
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