Wait a little while. We can't rush what belongs. To the heavens above. Like the course of our love without time. We'll never see what's behind. This elusive romance.
Little fly. The summer's play. My thoughtless hand. Has brushed away. . Am not I. A fly like thee. Or art not thou. A man like me. Little fly. . Related.
You just walked in to the quiet quiet after the stars, yes. It's such... silent, and you sense that something's wrong. Hmmm something's surely wrong!.