The sound of children playing seeps through my window and wakes me from dreaming. A pause for nostalgia and thought of simpler days well the wind picks up. Outside my windows there hands a broken rista. Looking towards the ground where the seeds rest and I wish I could lay there too, Start the twenty hour shift that is my day because I don't sleep well anymore. to be a broken rista. This is all I know, now I know no more.
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Гуру Песен