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Microphones in the Trees

For us who are like bulldozers Sleeping in the sun For us who are like lightning Buried in the mud

22 February 2008

Like sardines in a crushed tin

It still makes my heart sink every time.
It still drains a little bit of life every single time.
It makes me close up every single time.

No way out of this, now.

Less someone has a can opener.
Posted by mountainmadeofsteam at 14:44

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