do what you want. you live in America, after all. |
|
do what you want. you live in America, after all. |
|
The evening hangs beneath the moon, a silver thread on darkened dune.
With closing eyes and resting head; I know that sleep is coming soon.
Upon my pillow, safe in bed,
A thousand pictures fill my head,
I cannot sleep , my mids aflight;
and yet my limbs seems made of lead. ---Whitacre's Sleep---
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