Behind your ears, in dead of night, cultivates your fears, unearths your fright. Can you hear the trumpet song? Few notes of tune, you follow the sorrow, pitied by moon, won’t last till ‘morrow. TheContinue reading
Behind your ears, in dead of night, cultivates your fears, unearths your fright. Can you hear the trumpet song? Few notes of tune, you follow the sorrow, pitied by moon, won’t last till ‘morrow. TheContinue reading