trust
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The Astronaut
In Moon’s Bay were they, five strange creatures swayin robes that seemed grey, a goose feather-walk,at the end of days, I bet they’d be thereno, they’re chasing me through pallid moon rays;there’s no God, their eyes are smiling gladly. Chained but unforgotten, now they’re cutting flesh,dinner’s on the table, salt to mend these wounds,all these… Continue reading