“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
I am coming home to you with my own blood in my mouth.
And I am coming home to you if it’s the last thing that I do.
I started listening to the wolves and the timber, wolves and the timber at night…
I wake in the field with the cold and the lonesome—the moon’s the only face I see
So long, so high….
...Excuse me, are you lost? Perhaps you would care to visit the site map