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…But her soul, only partially unpackaged, singsthrough the slate that guards it, contacts those of us waiting here with a splay of its softscrutinizing fingers. Her soul is a sapling…
Two years ago I was afraid to wake up Afraid to find out The truth I knew in my bones Even today, I have to circle around the memory It’s…
When I first started to write songs, my efforts not to copy, borrow or steal from any other artist, brought me to the point of despair over the fact that…