Birds and morning moon set
on my shoulder
and how I want to hold her
close to me
But her heart is fickle,
so I let it be
She wears her crescent like a sickle
on her side
And with a glance in her midnight dance
if given half a chance
She will tear your soul apart,
will leave you dying cold,
I’ve been told ~
somewhere on her painted sky,
to moan
where birds and morning moon set
alone
ldn
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