quinta-feira, 6 de novembro de 2025

Stories on your skin

 I'm not telling you
I'm not telling the story a new
It's not a version or a view
It's not an implication or a clue

Whispers of who one is
settling inside the head
reminding one of those stories
Light as feathers, heavy as lead

I'm not telling you
I can't get it through
Come to your own conclusions
adjust inconvenient truth

Whispers, shreds of gossip
Some which become gospel
flowing out like a loose faucet
Into minds of lost people

The skin is tatooed
the wall is graffitied
I'm not telling you
Read the ink worn and fleeting


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