Saturday, March 27, 2004
He holds me like a child
wounded,
against his breast
A debt never repaid,
A mind that flew so close to the sun
It's feathers were a little burned around the edges.
And god scolded the naughty little angel for thinking he could know more than he should.
And set him gently down in his own bed for him to sleep.
Thank god.
-Trevor
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against his breast
A debt never repaid,
A mind that flew so close to the sun
It's feathers were a little burned around the edges.
And god scolded the naughty little angel for thinking he could know more than he should.
And set him gently down in his own bed for him to sleep.
Thank god.
-Trevor
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