The build up lasted for days, lasted for weeks, lasted too long. Our hero withdrew, when there was two, he could not choose one, so there was none.
Worn into the vaguely announced. Worn into the vaguely announced.
The spinning top made a sound like a train across the valley, fading, oh so quiet but constant til it passed, over the ridge into the distances written on your ticket to remind you where to stop, and when to get off.
The spinning top made a sound like a train across the valley, fading, oh so quiet but constant til it passed, over the ridge into the distances written on your ticket to remind you where to stop, and when to get off.
Повесть о днях, И неделях, Длящихся вечно… Герой исчез, Оставив двоих. Он сделал выбор Вничью В облачении порицаний В облачении порицаний —— Волчок гудит, как поезд, идущий вдоль долины - Звук угасает, но слышен до конца… Вдоль кряжа, к вокзалу на твоем билете, Как напоминание где сойти И остановиться