Pyrrhura
waiting room
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In the waiting room
there are so many things that I don't need
and they're offering me more:
Mosquitos
it was written on the box
that I found lying against my door
our reflection in a mirror
as we slowly pass
It was night
And the moon was high
I wondered: Where
the
bird
flies?
We're waiting
In this land of
broken glass
Over horison
Over the land
Morning sun shines
It'll be soon, soon
the noon, noon
...sunrise...