The countryside is being eaten by the very structure that we lean on
Love letters for bonfires and campfire songs for city children
Nowhere to run
Distance ourselves by the balanced crops of thought
Till the field
No where to run
You were never there
The oceanside is being torn down
By the countless drops of blackness feeding filtration
For the domestication of diseases
You'll lose your balance on this rope
Broncos with cavalry bringing me home
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