Where are the stories
Left written on skins
Bones and sharp cries
And soft, hallowed wings.
Things we never think of
Dreams we never say of
Hopes we never dream of
Wondering that we're made of
The song is in need of a singer
Like a dreamer and a dream
Searching through all forevers
In fire, water, and steam.
The last dream I ever had
Was a poem I never writ
The last thing I said was
A hoping you're still sad.
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