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Aug 2013
An endless ringing of the phone,
but no one’s home to hear its drone.
Unopened letters with the stamps peeled off,
and pictures faded from forgotten thought.

Smoke surrounds your silhouette
as you lose yourself in the next cigarette.
And the phone keeps ringing,
and I know you're home,
but I think I'll keep
saying
that you're gone.
Jules Wilson
Written by
Jules Wilson  Nashville
(Nashville)   
460
 
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