Gentle Sorrow Blue is the colour Love is the game Heartbreak and tragedy: always the same Overturned lorry lump in my throat everything's black as the Irishest stout How can I trust you? How can you know? Doubtless I'll doubt you regardless although, it wasn't your argument wasn't your fight You didn't stop it; protect me from sight of green-ravaged monsters devillish, cruel- fuel for my sorrow; gentle and muled.
Aimer
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