Simplicity has a Paradox

a quiet evening…
they whisper your name…
they fly into the cold glass… stop right here and crawling down…
the rain drops…
you and your cigarette… looking at them falling…
and thinking to your self…
that simplicity has a paradox… without hearing them whispering your name…

a master piece of postrock by “the seven mile journey” . Thanks to them.

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