where truth meets fiction, where the city ends and wilderness begins, a child rides a bullet bareback.
She hops off before the bitter end to stop death in its tracks.
Lyric, lullaby, lament.
A song can be carved from stone, river, or wind.
A fist and a heart can fit into the same size clothes; it all depends if you’re going to a wedding or a war zone.
Ashes to passion, dust to desire.
Keep my casket open when I die. Nightmare gallows are no match for these singing bones.
RichRant 