I was out the other night, nosing around. These streets
could use a hard rain. Dignity’s rainbow has fled.
Of course, my calling has gone silent, too. Where is
the art? At least, when the rose curls and drops its hips,
the world is set aright.
I was out the other night, nosing around. These streets
could use a hard rain. Dignity’s rainbow has fled.
Of course, my calling has gone silent, too. Where is
the art? At least, when the rose curls and drops its hips,
the world is set aright.
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