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jeté dans la boue  

naked on the road to nowhere  
scars of a blushing moon lost  
behind crusts of petri'd cloud  
 
blue burnt black an' edges brown  
torn an' spread out all around  
 
ittas if hope hushed a thousand words  
baked under her tuscan sun  
and his travels laid down and died  
 
|  
 
silence can't utter past  
winds in the road  
high(speed) and ignant  
a passage of life and her misery  
awaiting a (re)turn  
to (in)security in -a- (no)thing  
Written by JusTim_
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