Looking at it, not seeing it
Looking at it, not seeing it
The open windows
Let in the spring air today
And the birds sing their thankfully happy, brainless song
But the silence here finds a way to stay
Some kind of explosion
God, if you hear me
Throw me a line or strike me down
Do you refuse even to accuse
C'mon, do your worst
But lift this curse
Hogarth, House
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