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¬ dieselampel / redfields

 

 

 

 

	¬ m e l o d i e s       melodies #3 Thoughts cold as an icicle, ghost-written for the moment, for the span of a landslide. Dust would rot and rust from sight; The mood like a town's separated from the land, public image Ltd, here we are beyond differences. Slashed grass lays bleeding, breathing its last by the side of the road. Some days, time truly seems to stop.