my Irish pores are breaking
into the cold green waters
the cold muddy froth
father father I hear
the turnips preparing
in their ground
by the pale muddy
waters waters
we sink like any
old stone
about
Posted in NOMADIC SURREALIST PUNK
my Irish pores are breaking
into the cold green waters
the cold muddy froth
father father I hear
the turnips preparing
in their ground
by the pale muddy
waters waters
we sink like any
old stone
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