[ even in the bawdy dance-halls. something feels right in that, sounds true; out of rutyer's mouth, in his own heart. never had the head for art, or the throat to sing — but there's more than one way to raise a sound.
when we're called, i mean to have something to say,
it all tastes trite. over-observed; skittish of recent scrutiny. but the only way out is through. cedric reaches a hand across the table, squeezes an arm, brief. lets go again with a nod. ]
no subject
when we're called, i mean to have something to say,
it all tastes trite. over-observed; skittish of recent scrutiny. but the only way out is through. cedric reaches a hand across the table, squeezes an arm, brief. lets go again with a nod. ]
Hope one day t'hear it.
[ the way that byerly does. ]