Wednesday, 29 February 2012

East of The Night

Dream my child, safe in the slumberous warmth of the dried up river bed. The night is passing slowly. I listen to the desert. The wind blows down the valley a thousand years of loneliness. I must guide you safely to the East of the night.

Time is passing so they say. We had better get it right this time, because they won't be no next time.

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