I see you standing by the wishing well
with sharp knees and brown hands,
too brown
I used to write insane poems about
you but now they’re all gibberish
we got close once in southern sweden
but I don’t think we ever really met.
I see you standing by the wishing well
with sharp knees and brown hands,
too brown
I used to write insane poems about
you but now they’re all gibberish
we got close once in southern sweden
but I don’t think we ever really met.