DANDELION SEEDS YET TO RIDE ON THE BREEZE
YOU MAKE A WISH UPON THE DEAD BUT TURN AND CALL IT A WEED
ONLY PLASTIC FLOWERS NEVER DIE
WELL I CRY ON
SKYS OF BLUE LINOEUM
CLOUDS OF SPILLED MILK BUT AM I THE CUP?
HERE COMES THE SUN AM I FALLING UP?
98 notes
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