WEBVTT

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Untitled.

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Think of the letters, which
have placed you nowhere,

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have given you something
lonely and the restraint

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of all anger, that loneliness.

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At that door, the
bell doesn't ring.

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Sky shoves another place.

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Your face, you might as well
save as much as another.

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I keep my face well
in this letter.

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The letter is a local ballad.

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Today was a day of
each evil, it seemed.

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Think of you going away, all
deadness within all given.

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I have made for you a portrait
half obscure, half twisted.

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It is an illness, I suppose.

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We all go away.

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