Slow
birds
No breeze
Iron hearts
Rust in streams
Long march
Small crimes
Soft words
Whisper
It’s time to come home - your eyes
To bring back - your charms
To sit real still
In my arms
Clocks tick
Trees pound
Lions roar
On empty streets
Long lists
In black and white
(S h h) Red words
That read like the Fourth of July
You’re home
Uhuh, You’re home, In my arms
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