Without the luxury
of love,
lone willet
calls into the fog
and I respond,
as if our one and one
make two.
A mystic algebra,
always searching
for the missing,
lone willet
calls into the fog
and I respond.
Without the luxury
of love,
lone willet
calls into the fog
and I respond,
as if our one and one
make two.
A mystic algebra,
always searching
for the missing,
lone willet
calls into the fog
and I respond.
