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Abigail Dodd Nov 2016
I am listening for
the sky to open up and some divine message
to be whispered in my ear
And I am listening for
the TV to tell me I’m living my 17-year-old life wrong
And I’m listening for
the Truth to finally be spit into the sludge of the city.
I am listening for
the mother holding her son by the shoulders
telling him, “They shoot first, ask questions later”
And I’m listening for
the gunshots to finally get inside my head
And I’m listening for
the sounds of sirens that will not come.
I am listening for
the hopeless screams, in fact they’re all I can hear
And I am listening for
the disenfranchised revolution
And I am listening for
America to stop planting flowers
over the graves of the oppressed.

I am listening for
America to say she’s sorry
And I am listening for
the eulogy of discovery
And I am listening for
Bukowski to meet his teary-eyed love.
I am listening for
Dean to find me in the alley
And I am listening for
the day I become the instrument
And I’m listening for
the Cambodian Cassette Archives to finally make it big.
I am listening for
the lost chord that will revive us all
And I am listening for
the blues to make me drunk
And I am listening for
you to shut up and let me write.


I am listening for
America to sob
And I am listening for
the path to blamelessness
And I am listening for
the Indian man at the gas station
to finally say “hello” back to me.
I am listening for
the easier way
And I am listening for
the day I remember being excited.  
I am listening for
the man who is always the sacrifice
And I am listening for
the false adoration
And I am listening for
America to choke on her own ash.
I am listening for
America to get down on her knees
And I am listening for
my mom to tell me what to say
And I am constantly listening for
the day when I can stare at a person
And not be disappointed when I realize
there is no comfort or familiarity.

I am listening for
God to be pure
And I am listening for God to be real
And I am listening for
God to finally show us his blood-stained hands.
Amanda  Dec 2016
I am Listening
Amanda Dec 2016
I am listening for the name to be called of our next President.
I am listening for the ring of the Liberty Bell to sound again.
I am listening for happiness to be discussed on the sidewalks of my town.
I am listening for my name to be called on graduation day.
I am listening for my name to be called on commencement day.
I am listening for the buzz of the city outside of my apartment in Boston.
I am listening for a pleasant change to be reverberated throughout society.
I am listening for a rebirth of happiness to excite the nation.
I am listening for the happiness inside me to awaken.
I am listening for that voice inside my head that encourages me.
I am listening for the sound of true love that speaks from the heart.
I am listening for the words, "Will you marry me?"
I am listening for the cries of a baby.
I am listening for the endless, "I love you's."
I am listening for the cries of a second child.
I am listening for the gentle small talk of dog walkers in my suburban neighborhood.
I am listening for the rush of busy work that floods my office.
I am listening for endless presentations I must listen to in order to pay my bills.
I am listening for the excitement in my friends' voices when they tell me they're engaged.
I am listening for the cries of my friends' babies.
I am listening for my children's names to be called on their graduation day.
I am listening for the sermons at my parents' funerals.
I am listening for this cycle to repeat itself throughout time.
I am listening for the afternoon breeze tickling the tree branches as I sit beside my husband in rocking chairs in our later years.
I am listening for that voice in my head to tell me that I did it, that I lived an amazing life.
Finally, I am listening for the sound of God's voice to say one word, "Welcome".
Allen Wilbert  Oct 2013
Music
Allen Wilbert Oct 2013
Music

Running out of time, nothing left to rhyme,
no longer in my prime, listening to Sublime.
Used to smoke ****, slaves I have freed,
red I still bleed, listening to Creed.
I'm all that, I have kicked my cat,
my girl is a brat, listening to Ratt.
Invented a love potion, makes girls frozen,
many things I've broken, listening to Poison.
Buried in the sand, not what I planned,
I need a helping hand, listening to The Steve Miller Band.
Too many cell phones, can never get any loans,
love the show Bones, listening to The Rolling Stones.
Confessing all my sins, playing some violins,
dizzy from the spins, listening to The Thompson Twins.
Standing in the cold, my life is uncontrolled,
just got paroled, listening to Avenged Sevenfold.
Sprayed with mace, kicked in the face,
stuck in this rat race, listening to Three Days Grace.
Working the graveyard shift, lots of sand I must sift,
my life needs a lift, listening to Taylor Swift.
Living in Illinois, tired of hearing noise,
losing all my poise, listening to The Beach Boys.
No hands on the clock, it's me people mock,
dryer stole another sock, listening to Kid Rock.
Music has made me what I am,
loving the hairbands and the glam.
Hard rock is all I know,
how could you not like Ugly Kid Joe.
Heavy metal is where it's at,
all the older bands are bald and fat.
Top forty isn't half bad,
every year it's a different fad.
Disco and grunge had a short stay,
Nirvana and Pearl Jam, get too much air play.
Hip hop and rap has been around to long,
can they even sing a real song.
Nothing will ever beat the eighties,
spandex, hair and all the ***** ladies.
My two favorite songs are Sister Christian,
and Here I go Again,
those songs remind me of way back when.
Country, well that will always ****,
rednecks, Nascar, hunting and a giant truck.
B  Oct 2015
Breathing
B Oct 2015
We sat there listening to each other breathing.
The others in our company merely shadows and scenery:
My eyes were fixed on you.
Careless laughter and playful words were thrown between us.
Our friendship blossomed and our feelings grew. Unspoken.

We lay there listening to each other breathing.
Soft and quiet as our friends all slept around us, in a daze of alcohol,
While we lie sober and content talking of our lives and our dreams.
And that night, when I fell asleep wrapped safely in your arms,
I knew that just your friendship would not fulfil me. I wanted more.

We sat there listening to each other breathing.
Tense and nervous as the credits blurred on the TV screen,
Giving me the signal to pull you close and kiss you back for the first time.
My nerves dissolved as your lips enclosed me in safety
And you asked me if I would be yours.

We sat there listening to each other breathing.
Slow and steady as I looked into your blue eyes and saw my happiness
Dancing across your pupils and mirrored on your lips.
Your goofy, crooked smile and silly laugh confirmed what I already knew,
And together we voiced our feelings and dreamt of our future.

We lay there listening to each other breathing.
Soft and gentle until our lips met for the hundredth time,
Then deeper and heavier as your love consumed me.
And I let you in; let you take my innocence,
Let you take my fragile heart.

We sat there listening to each other breathing.
Sharp and short between our hysterical laughter,
Rolling on the floor like children in pure ecstasy,
Drugged from the presence of one other
And laughing at the joys of being alive and in love.

We lay there listening to each other breathing.
The long breaths and secret smiles I knew too well.
You stopped my breath with kisses and we spent all day in bed.
Your touch was my poison and your skin my drug,
Words were seldom needed as we shared our love in motion.

We stood there listening to each other breathing.
Loud and violent between the shouting and the silence.
My frequent spells of anger and your lack of concern
Pushed us further apart. But I could not bear to lose you
So we quietly forgave and spoke softly of our love.

We sat there listening to each other breathing.
Calm and even as we enjoyed a quiet Thursday night.
Comfort and routine surrounded us
And embraced us with a familiar hug.
Snuggled on the sofa we were peaceful.

You sat there listening to me breathing.
Jagged and heavy between my sobs.
All the while you were silent,
A predator watching the slow death of their prey
While I tried to find the strength to breathe at all.

I sit here listening to my breathing.
The echoes of your smile and the shadows of your voice in my mind.
But my reality is silent
And my breaths are pained and solitary,
While you continue breathing all the notes of life.
ryn  Dec 2014
Listening Ear
ryn Dec 2014
Listening ears don't come easy
Most come with mouths harbouring wagging tongues
Pouncing on the chance to retell your story
Exploiting your need to empty acrid lungs

Listening ears, they're indeed very rare
Unidentifiable no matter how well you know
Lurking behind a mask of concern and care
Sweet words employed so your cards you'd show

Listening ears could be just a myth
An idiom to quench the thirst to confide
Listening ears sometimes come with fangs for teeth
Hungering and lusting for your trust and pride

Listening ear, oh why you come with a mouth so foul
Why the cunning trickery and unscrupulous deceit
Kindness as bait, when in fact you prowl
Many none the wiser until they are bit

Listening ear, in you I gave my trust
I bared my innermost and gave my all
Hoped that you'd soothe my ailing crust
Instead you lifted me high only to watch me fall
The covenant of secret-keeping is not for everyone.
tyjhtysj  Jan 2015
listening
tyjhtysj Jan 2015
I am listening to the emotions build by your words that are making your sentences leaving your mouth to reach to my ears in a speed of sound 331.29 meter per seconds: I’m listening I am listening to separate that beautiful cover from that ugly heart from that muted silence the loud scream of help from that unattractive image the noble heart from that smiley face you using to hide the tears that dropping like unstoppable blood, (we all know what happened when your blood finish) I am listening because the fact of describing you feeling throw written words could be like meditating, therapy, you name it or Art ; to you, but to me listening to you can give me a lesson or give you a mission of risen, ( because eventually I will say something back or someone) I’m listening to take away that anger creating you grief struggle of fear without relief, the trouble within your body that is making you say I hate my life or hate me I just hate it when your personality start changing and got me thinking you might have bipolar disorder especially when you pretty smiley face changes like a car gear from 1 to 2 to 3 , 4 , 5 then again 1 to 2 …….. I just want to take it from 5 to 4 then 3 then 2 then1 and keep it there safe and slow, yeah, safe because I want to see that smiley face every single time and slow I don’t think I need to tell you why because we all know slow Ain’t the same with fast when you leaving that life you want. I am listening to tell you for every surface you face they all are worthless than your happy face so smile, I am listening to your jokes too and I do laugh at them hard even tho in my head I am going ‘albert Einstein or ???’’ But I’m laugh no matter what because I know that smile mean a lot to you same was and still to me.
Beatrice Prior  Jan 2015
Grace
Beatrice Prior Jan 2015
Bless me with your grace,
Beloved,
Give me intentions,
Give me promises,
Give me vows,

Support the signs of my prayer,
Give shelter to my heart,
Give me new excuses,
Give me rains of dreams,
A measure of seasons,

Bless me with your grace,
Do your gracious deeds,
Sometimes take a look here too,

Are you listening?
I am crying,
Are you listening to me?
Why am I crying?

Destinations are angry,
Because paths have been lost,
Come and take me away,
That's all I wish for,

This is my path to freedom,
You belong to me. Yes,
Bless me with your grace,
Do your gracious deeds,
Sometimes take a look here too,

Are you listening?
I am crying,
Are you listening to me?
Why am I crying?

Even time has stopped,
How and why has this happened?
Wish you come this way,
Just like some blessing,

You are solace to mu soul,
You are my prayer,
Bless me with your grace,
Do your gracious deeds,
Sometimes take a look here too,

Are you listening?
I am crying,
Are you listening to me?
Why am I crying?

Are you listening?
I am crying,
Are you listening to me?
Why am I crying?

Beloved...
Dennis Willis Sep 2019
This listening this listening to
not at all happy with...

I am not deaf I am not hearing
what I am hearing

this wave this wave is coming back
its not the wave its the shore

listening to the sea its the shore
listening to the tongues of waves

its the moment the wave recedes
leapt upon by gleaming light

dissolving by receding this light fades
into sand into glass into

this is not sound this is not an act of sound
i am reverberating from beauty

i am littering space between with this
guessing about you

this apprehension of you this anticipation
of your hunger and whether it exceeds the lies you were born into

this listening to the lies making up the heart
of our us oh how fear ***** us in

unbelieve  your skin and snot and drool
as impediments to beauty

I am running your intent to ground
where sound grinds down

did i stutter did i drift did I miss
where you live and cry in small check

this crumb this dry crumb that is my heart
would listen really it would if only you

if only you were my beloved if only you
listening meant satisfaction

this sound coming from this sound
cries twice for the cool night without sound

i am not able to able to carry this carry this
self boarding self recrimination self sailing

feet of rope encircle our necking our passion
aching against all this listening this bath of alive

this hearing of angst and animosity and rutting anger
wishing to be fully pressured

and heard I am listening as you detonate
your threat to cause tears

i don't know what you are saying
I am pulled to corners by forces

then cool night air moves through
and i feel heard
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
to willingly listen to some russian punk...
they call themselves:
Sierpień - well... Sierpien -
нь is floating around somewhere -
august... август....
perhaps the ****** word "rhymes"
with sierp (i młot) - sickle and hammer...
pień? trunk - stump of wood...
etymological fascination...
august where no emperor augustus
ever stood... unless a Kaцпer...
sier(p) - sickle
(p)ień - stump of a freshly cut tree:
or trunk...
hence the birth of a name
of a month: harvest the trees...
and we are talking about a russian
post-punk goth-punk band...
almost more congested and less
atmospheric the cure...
old kaц the hangover comes in and
says something with a mirror
and fog...
but i'm sure... living under the much
despised (ras)Putin regime would
never give you such music...
look at the people of the...
look at the free peoples of the western /
hinterlands!
no... thank god the view count is only...
what? 3,880 views...
it's an oyster affair...
Sierpien - Cмeрдит дo caмых звeзд (2016)...
people can still produce art of this sort?
is a (ras)Putin required? really?
democracy per se...
power-struggles from among
the populace...
ever hear the petitions of schizophrenics
in the western lands?
a holy grail status for some...
the "nuanced" *****...
or bilingual...
but this album current saved me from
a despair... a friday night is happening
somewhere... and i'm more than happy
to not be there...
i don't even know what's popular
in terms of music in the hinterlands...
the bellybutton of the world: London...
doesn't exactly spew out pointers
to digest what's new and pop with
the crowd...
how long did it take me to hear about
psy's gangnam style?
a good half a year... but then it was already
playing on repeat...
perhaps not in a way that...
once upon a time... Microsoft wanted
to use R.EM.'s it's the end of the world
(and i'm feeling fine)
for an advert...
and R.E.M. refused...
i can't exactly see any use of an advert...
but for the past decade...
perhaps... the outliers of dubstep:
distance, vex'd... burial...
10 years have passed and i don't even
know what music people listen to...
like i said... i'm listening to something...
only about 4K people also listen...
notably in Russia...
i'll translate...
śmierdzić do samych zwezd... gwiazd...
smerdit do samych zwezd...
10 or so years later i'm at this point...
there's no need to invoke Ms. Cмeрц
but it almost never figured for me...
ц somehow borrows from щ...
that's of course ч is related to ш...
to stink of **** up to the stars...
that's how the album name,
"sort-of" translates itself...
in the past 10 years...
this is probably the sort of music i should
be listening to...
i would somehow abhor myself
being the fully integrated western mongrel...
allowing my soul to die and
this language to dictate the fashionista
dictums "from above"... like a good puppy...
origins mostly focusing on...
Lebanon... the old Raj...
i honestly did think that: the de factor default
implication of the word: integration was
to speak the language...
this is not the great h'america where
you'd call it an alliance to a patriotism...
this is england... where people are not
exactly responsive to the word patriotinism...
and whenever it is used...
it's the ugly word nationalism...
so... this is not an extension of thinking
that can be "accomplished" akin to somewhere
in h'america...
this is england talking to itself in me...
or rather... me... looking at england and trying
to find the sort of footing for a tango...
born 4 hours shy of warsaw doesn't help,
either...
still... as names go...
no one was a cooler name for their capital...
come on... war-saw...
beats washington d.c. -
but... loon'don... that's mighty close...
all the democratic arguments aside...
i'm listening to these political commentators...
and i'm wondering...
what sort of music are they listening to?
i'm still looking for a playlist
i inherited that included bands like...
it's dire to even begin to name them...
the best i found are still...
demdyke stare... and that's not really
being pretentious... vomito *****...
but "once upon a time" music could make
a man stay up into the stillness of the night,
far beyond the night,
he might have sometimes glimpsed
a new unfolding as he would go to bed
from the graveyard shift with
some neglected words being seized...
i've just skimmed through u.k. top 40 chart...
i can't relate...
i can understand just having the vote...
but to have the vote...
and be left... in this barrage of...
i understand that man is a political animal
and somehow social...
but a vote is enough...
no wonder good culture hasn't "happened"
in the past 10 years...
i don't like being informed of culture
via the prism of: it's all or not political...
i don't like being
polarised i don't like being politicised...
all i have is one vote...
and i'm nearing 34 and seeing how...
since i haven't already used it...
it's pretty much a redundant affair...
as long as the status quo is there...
as long as there's a status quo...
and there's the shady bureaucracy cushioning...
but how can one expect to find
a tartar stake of sustenance...
when everything resembles an english
sunday roast: with the beef being over-cooked
over, way over well-done?
the meat is butchered twice...
once as the cow... second time as a piece of roast!
i'm not fond of criticism...
bad... i know as a foreigner but also as
a citizen... only the pakistani grooming gangs
are sacred cows in this, this whittle english...
past allegience to soviet russia?
because, what? russian post-punk takes
my fancy...
one! one benefit of a doubt...
justin bieber's jazzy interlude in:
love yourself... and that's it...
i decided for the: leave me alone button...
and for all the vitality of the western ways
i'm left either the window-licker prized oscar
nominee or some lethargic melancholy prone:
a decade on and a decade without
the better part of me...
i somehow own about 10 pairs of shoes
but every time i only walk in single pair...
until they are worn,
until i can almost imitate:
no borrow metaphor from the african
continent... my second mother siberia...
and the indo-europeans and whatever tag!
tag it necessary! caucasian and la la land...
this was political... before it even started...
even whether there was a demand for my vote...
the tide came, the tide went,
i wasn't given so much as a sniff of civil rights...
my civil rights had to be political rights:
in a redundant format best described:
as a vote... opinions first, vote later...
by then the vote is already a confirmation
of how many more ***** will sink
to this level of: humpty-dumpty...
a culture can thrive when power is clarified...
there's no culture when the only
despotism is the finding the lost
in the labyrinth of bureaucracy...
since i base my focus via Kant... yes...
these are idealistic words...
because idealism is - the already focused on
status quo... and again...
the status quo... perhaps even stasis qua!
- but i'm not listening to current music...
from a "certain" place that once could
salvage the rest of the world of bodies
with its beacon of soul...
not "current" as in: where meat is more mince
than steak...
it's all fine and dandy...
to have the provisions at your disposal...
but you can't expect an annual supply of carrots...
or meat... to feed the mouth that neither
opens, nor bites, nor chews,
nor swollows, not ******* saliva
for the premature process of digestion...
you can't expect this most perfect supply & demand...
something has to be missing for
the soul to have... the realism of the fact
i am bound to a robotic / unconscious body...
what conscious decision do i have...
over the already calibrated heart?
the delusion that the brain... is somehow...
freed from what?
psychological metaphysics?!
i have an automated digestive system...
and an automated ****...
i don't exactly know when i'm going to ****...
but i do **** - and with so much pleasure so...
that i would forgo all homosexual exfoliations
for the mere pleasure of...
easing a **** out of that ******* bang hole...
than allowing a vaselined cockrel in...
quiet a disgust pecker of high ambitions...
when it comes to enjoying
massaging the prostate muscle when sitting
on the throne of thrones...
i am trapped in an automated body!
the only aspect of me agreeing to evolutionary
biology is to invoke the soul...
as something ex "nihil" in coprus...
from "nothing" in body (intact)...
hello intellectual safari of the thesaurus
and the synonym chasers...
from under the Iron Curtain...
once more... thrown under the Silicon Curtain...
but there is something in me that
allows me to escape the already well oiled,
this well calibrated body... shy of being
merely treated as baggage...
there's something that allows me to restrict...
when i will **** out a full bladder...
from time to time...
but this is still oh so mechanical...
the fickle nature of man's own self interests:
the only mirror i could find
to compensate the complexity
of deus ex machina...
i'll last 10 minutes with a swollen bladder...
until i give way...
that's when i know that i am rebelling
against the mechanical nature of this body...
- nonetheless the conversation run down
a different route...
i want to be, as i once was...
politically starved... give me the vote and lace me
with civic duties... minding culture...
don't give me this politico journo-*******...
this spare straitjacket of "opinions"...
opinions that do not hone in on a dialectic...
but a dichotomy...
while under (ras)Putin there was a resurgence
of post-punk... brutalism debauchery...
in the vest of the west...
do i really have to give gil scott heron over?
see? what power do i have?
i have.... a chance to glimpse how a culture
can thrive... musically...
no... oh no! no Vlad... you're not getting off
that easy...
Tchaikovsky - 1812 Overture...
tell me... as a cat might look you in the eyes...
and cats do... when you find it uncomfortable
to lie... a cat will look you in the eyes
when it knows the agony of you telling
the truth... too frequently...
now... tell me...
of the 1812 Overture...
how close was Tchaikovsky teasing...
plagiarising... la marseillaise?
oh i think: this close ||.
i still don't know: listening to classical music...
is supposed to make people,
"somehow" smart?!
- just like Beethoven hides / licks /
alludes to the crescendo of
ode an die freude that is to come in the 9th symphony...
lots of crashing plates and banging
templates of cooking vessels in between...
a crescendo is almost like...
but not quiet... no... it's never exactly a chorus...
but Ode an die Freude is revealed
in a subtle way somewhere in the vicinity
of the genesis of the 9th...
i'll ******* duel over this remark though...
if it takes blunt knifes and spoons...
so be it...
negate: Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture does
not allude to La Marseillaise!
*****, test me! i swear to god -
you tell me this russian кaцaп is not alluding to?
what sort of culture are to speak of,
as citizen... if we have to be...
worthwhile less the already invalid vote...
and more the sway-ghost-vote of...
ditto-heads and less and less...
i remember when i would start a conversation
with girls on the basis of: so...
what music are you into?
has... the don mclean prophesy come true?!
the only music is the democratic opera
of the inability to hush competing interests
of the less than homogenous, cerebral hive?!
wow! believe me when i state:
i would truly rather shun my state of being:
stunned!
to me... people have forlorn to "worry"
about petty, ahem... "petty" cultural worries...
this political transfusion, verbiage,
look... a broken arm of a word that used
to resemble pref-                 ending in
the loose limb that ends with 9...
scary language... informal language...
not exactly the english standard: terse /
whimsical... "way-hey-hey-ha-witty"...
hardly anecdotal: mein herr kapitan!
oh but this is certainly a cultural desert...
i'm still doing my best to shake off the 20th century...
what's it called... what's it called...
you are... ah! 20th century inheritence...
not that i'm by any measure a man
of the 20th century...
come the year 2000 i was still a mid-way
between child and man...
2020... 34... i am a 21st century man...
as i also have circa 10K of student debt to pay off...
but this is england...
a chemistry degree gets you nowhere...
i always fancied the Leibniz route...
a garbage man... perhaps "the librarian"...
the street-cleaner...
10K worth of pounds of debt...
paid? when one earns over 15K per annum...
bless ol' england... this debt will be written off
after 30 years...
i really wanted to find a job akin to being
the street-cleaner...
i wouldn't even mind... seeing as how i could
come home and write a rhythm
of a crooked guitar... perhaps doing some work
in the industrial sector...
the scottish widows' h.q. roof, near st. paul's?
i did that... well... part of the team...
industrial scale roofing...
whatever... this is not going to become
"yet another" autobiographical sketch...
a degree in chemistry led me nowhere...
some lucky fist-first-think-fewest landed
their english B.A.s and:
"the authorities" would never let them starve
having... their poo'ems better read...
oh i wish i could think without having
itchy fingertips and what words i want
to say when i however have to say the mundane
formality of the everyday...
i'm the sort of jack spicer *******...
that i cannot work with this lexicon beside
what's always greeting me with a welcome return
of surd applause...
i can't speak the everyday language
of the everyday -
even my punctuation is suspicious -
an *****-nilly I.R.A. bad device...
i can hold the hounds of bark, leash, girdle and muzzle
until they finally find the dog...
but not until i have feasted upon
the blank canvas that will never see any colour...
but this x-ray of hiding faint hues
working in the subtle grey-of-no-grey area
that comes with these words, these bones...
i have to drink...
to find these words... and an echo prior
to the cave... this being the cave after i heard
the echo... even among drunks i couldn't
speak such words, such sentences...
under them the drunks cower...
and... this is the better part of a friday night...
i best exclude myself to this page
of rummaging... because even if i drink...
i wouldn't find a conversation among the drunks
to compliment this! to compliment this
with an immediacy of a dialogue -
a shared experience...
better i write this... and wait for a delay...
better i wait for a delayed response...
in the quantum sense of:
when observed a wave... when not observed...
a particle.
science as this cohesive orthodox litany of
dogmas to undermine religion...
science is more vogue than religious dogmatism...
science is modern...
it will only and has only succumbed
to modern finicky... vogue... science is...
hardly a... blind sighted hive brain-drain focus
of the replicas and clone surds nodding...
this language... would never be spoken among
the drunks...
i hardly think it would or even does:
deserve a stage... perhaps only if i wore face paint...
if i were truly an entertainer...
but these words deserve more than a stage...
they deserve an: umbratempus...
zeitshatten... a time-shadow...
cień czasu... (время тень)..
regurgitate something to me, akin to:
T4T (oliver baez bendorf)...

see! i knew нь was floating around...
it comes... back... full circle.

— The End —