“It was evening of the following day. The north-facing escarpment of Watership Down, in shadow since early morning, now caught the western sun for an hour before twilight ... Far below lay the fields green with wheat, the flat pastures grazed by horses, the darker greens of the woods. They too, like the hillside jungle, were tumultuous with evening.” (Richard Adams, Watership Down, Ch. 18)
Tear me at the seams, all the money that you dream I am Watership Down, I am breaking in the sound.
A Filipino quarter, I am working your short order, you can see where I stand and my trembling hands.
I don’t know you but I want to.
Delicate strings: you don’t hear a thing, do you?
All the secrets that I planned and the elephant I damned; he is standing in the room and I don’t think he sees you
I am calling out your name thinking it’s another day, but it’s Sunday at the lastest and I haven’t said my graces for you.
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