She’s not here quite yet.
If I force her to speak now,
she might disappear
I’ll fill it with stars
and candles that smell like shops
we used to go in
And they will swoop down
and from within our own world
the angels we need
I wish I could place
my hand upon just one chest
and help them find peace
(When I get out of here)
I’ll pen a dark tome
about fucking architects
but only young ones
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