Buried Horses – Tom Dacre’s Blues
Ashes fall from the chimney so maudlin. Sodden haunts returning thoughts to your flue. Did your body snap? Was it made of porcelain? Could my shakey hand prepare a splint…
Ashes fall from the chimney so maudlin. Sodden haunts returning thoughts to your flue. Did your body snap? Was it made of porcelain? Could my shakey hand prepare a splint…