He stuck his heart through rustic charms sold his ghost as an antique to the city with his soul for a few cheap smiles. He hums a song with many words apart,why preserve a dying craft in its misery of faded picture and some old art. I sigh and say another battered man on weight of breathless sighs as he holds his battered hands while she acted like she listened. Well the barmaid shakes her head and fills my glass says im livin’ in the past-so his words are artefacts an endangered species left behind and abandoned on the tracks-lock me up behind plastic glass in that old dusty shelf,theres no going back for me; the heart is now an antique-out of date and unique. Carved in stone is a rustic eulogy that shall be sold for free -such a pity. It’ll go on misunderstood-language i

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