We are night travelers, hand in hand. Our flesh not bone; not too cold to burn. Our wants passing, lightly brushing consciousness, Heightening the senses: Flying, Plummeting, Living, Dying. No decisions here.
We are night travelers, hand in hand. Our flesh not bone; not too cold to burn. Our wants passing, lightly brushing consciousness, Heightening the senses: Flying, Plummeting, Living, Dying. No decisions here.