There is nothing quite like the pain
Of unrequitable affection
To feel and to know
To wish to reach yet walk alone
A hand extended, a solemn cry
Yet moving away as the wind doth blow.
There is nothing quite like the pain
Of unrequitable affection
To feel and to know
To wish to reach yet walk alone
A hand extended, a solemn cry
Yet moving away as the wind doth blow.
For the Intermittent Writer
Short books about albums. Published by Bloomsbury.
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