The clouds looks painted
And the suns light burns a white
In which every colour lives
And inside squints a perfect circle
An inner eye
Which will watch irregardless, over all,
In it's path, it's vision,
All are small
All are
Irregardless.
And the clouds looked painted
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
The clouds looks painted
And the suns light burns a white
In which every colour lives
And inside squints a perfect circle
An inner eye
Which will watch irregardless, over all,
In it's path, it's vision,
All are small
All are
Irregardless.
And the clouds looked painted
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