By Anna Sykora
If looks could swallow up the world, Mine should have ended when You turned aside just at the door And left me dim again. A clear, cold light washed over you, My tender god of stone, Dividing like a century The lover from the lone.
If looks could swallow up the world, Mine should have ended when You turned aside just at the door And left me dim again.
A clear, cold light washed over you, My tender god of stone, Dividing like a century The lover from the lone.
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