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When you look back, you see that the multicolored bell is no longer ringing. You ask the girl if you can stop playing, you know you will be gone soon. You see the multicolored bell ring again.
You stop playing on time. You see the multicolored bell ring again.
And I leave this place as the last white candle for which a child will stand in a funeral home is lit— I walk your halls for resonance for this day will be my end.
Until the last house stands empty at the edge of a pond, the same for tree which grows on after.
I will see you cry again— I'll see you sing in that church with a dozen people faces on the walls lamenting that I sing in the graveyard the same as the river.
The church has seen its share of dull, downcast and desolate neighborhoods, and now the last remaining church of theirs has some fresh grass being planted in front— an effort to lure people in.
As the church grows the earth is broken & we live in its dream, our nightmare — we were born in such & what it felt like as it rose is as it fell to us is no more so than if the rain poured a shadow on a wall— when we were young — but in our dreams; what I saw, that wall in the #rst place is the same wall you saw today & the water you drank from is the same water you drank last spring when the sacrament was found hypocrite.
The earth breaks, there is #re; our bodies become clay; we're trapped in bodies that are like the clay, and we’re not quite sure when the ringing will cease.