I was Shaw’s left shoe
All great truths start as curse
The curse of walking on the side of the street were rain would not fall
Ask the old gang to tell the story of the lost ideas and ideals that smoke moves up and not down
No book of the truth will ever see the end as no word will ever see the light of darkness
The sound of stillness is always new and never old but always true
Saint Joan brings back my love and brings back my naked brain this beautiful earth
Bring back my bird the nest of old women of youth I can live on bread and clean water
The right shoe only walks on the streets of poets
When the shoes are old and forgotten in the closet of my mind the story brings a cast anew
Lost powers to the end of time to accept how long?
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