Oh, you bastard son -
You can't be counted on.
There is the palest shape
Steady your weeping face,
Lay the pillow to your cheek
We are failing it seems.
This funeral lies inside
My mourning head,
What was between us
Has now become a wedge.
What was is failing in your eyes...
You can't be counted on.
There is the palest shape
Steady your weeping face,
Lay the pillow to your cheek
We are failing it seems.
This funeral lies inside
My mourning head,
What was between us
Has now become a wedge.
What was is failing in your eyes...
-Shannon Wright, Method of Sleeping
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