My eyes are made of windows.
The glass is making rainbows
in spectral boxes locked in
the boxes I put stock in.
I started looking closely;
the windows are almost me:
a choice between the same thing
and nothing but renaming.
in spectral boxes locked in
the boxes I put stock in.
I started looking closely;
the windows are almost me:
a choice between the same thing
and nothing but renaming.
It's either or it's nothing
at all, and God is bluffing,
because I see the truth by
reflections in my two eyes.
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