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I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart
Young but old-feeling, novel-writing nobody; a sucker for cityscapes.
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart
Young but old-feeling, novel-writing nobody; a sucker for cityscapes.
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I’m not as sad as Dostoevsky
I’m not as clever as Mark Twain
I only buy a book for the way it looks
and stick it on the shelf again
