the crib is broken at seventeen syllables; it sings not the croon; it brokers no chime of hate; there is only the father, the sun, and the unholy beast smothering the ink and howl
the crib is broken at seventeen syllables; it sings not the croon; it brokers no chime of hate; there is only the father, the sun, and the unholy beast smothering the ink and howl