Its not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah, hallelujah.
                                      
                                          
                                   
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The Scrambled Philosophies That I Call Thoughts
PoetryThe scattered musings about love and life by a(n) (a)musing girl who knows little of either.
 
                                               
                                               
                                                  