And me, standing under the splintered night, catching fractured glimpses into the black behind the black, hearing the prayers of stars, the angry whispers of the dark summer night.Its voice cracks,on your name.My eyes close,on your name.
How do you know love is gone? If you said that you would be there at seven and you get there by nine and he or she has not called the police - it's gone.
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How do you know love is gone? If you said that you would be there at seven and you get there by nine and he or she has not called the police - it's gone.
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