This new black sack he's got silver streaks and I think he knows how to glitter in a badger's headlight-red eyes he's confident and composed, a deaf man's symphony of raised white blisters on drying white paper, he's got a destination that, with me tied to his back, is a sack of promises that, pulled one by one from the depths one kept kept secret for so so long, long to rise to the light.

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