The National

Oh fuck, oaken baritone, punctuated by guitars, the swirling mixture of four horsemen on their horses, riding after Sunset into our mouths, but ears slurp up as hungrily the sounds of the gods departed, parting with us. What a legacy. What a purposeful rise of the floor, off the floor, decaying corpse lifted off its ass to sing again.

10/07/2016 North Vancouver after Graceless

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2020

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada