- cifra
Sold my cold knot
A heavy stone
Sold my red horse for a venture home
To vanish on the bow
Settling slow
Fit it all, fit it in the doldrums
(Or so the story goes)
Color the era
Film it, it's historical
My mile could not
Pump the plumb
In my arbor till my ardor
Trumped every inner inertia
Lump sum
All at once
Rushing from the sub-pump
(Or so the story goes)
Balance we won't know
We will see when it gets warm
