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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

26 January 2012

X - Ray

I can see through it.
cardboard walls and matchstick frame.
The haunt and illusion.

Your aura of perfection.
Does not illuminate the room.
Your extravagance will rust.

All that is great.
Is consumed by the wolves.
Leaving skeletons to bury themselves.
Posted by mountainmadeofsteam at 22:56

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