And she put Gwion Bach the son of Gwreang of Llanfair to stir the cauldron... And she herself, according to the books of the astronomers, and in planetary hours, gathered every day of all charm-bearing herbs.
Fucked up on booze
Smell the cold tiles
Light is cold hours away
No friends
No announcements
No water
And the clock's
ticking cheerfully
beside your empty bed
Posted by little gwion at 5:36 p.m.
No comments:
Post a Comment