Sunday, November 8, 2009

Song for a silent Sunday: The Engine Driver by the Decemberists


And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones

I am a writer, I am all that you have hoped on
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones
My bones

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