The Spell

let the word take the form
of pebble, smile, leaf
cloud, an animal
with warm wet breath

a warm heart's nub
I hold
so persistently
is not the foundation as these always are dead

dead
dead
dead
dead
we only are a handful of sand
in the hourglass's broad hips



Credits
Writer(s): Jan Mazurek, Maciej Dziamski, Paweł Korbacz, Witold Rolnik
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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