I'd break my legs to get there and burn my eyes to seem, a utopia tree shedding. clay's gray bike is moving, move me through the ruins of a memory fading. without words. we convey a memory loss with such a stop sign style and live like branches breaking off and pissing on roots. i want to go back and lay in the shade, i want to climb to the top and spit on passing cars.
I look at these times with sad eyes, but i'll never get back.

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