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Comments about Sydney Luciana
The cold wind whistles through the cracks in the door
The ocean is steel grey as it morosely greets the shore
First the rage of being gone and then the quiet ensues
The quiet of being alone is like death, it slowly imbues
The soul until it is saturated with too many salty tears
Those tears that lament time spent alone, all those years
Cold sand swallows my footprints as I look behind me
Night slowly overtakes the sky so I can no longer see
In this forsaken corner of the world there is no one
Slowly everyone retreats to themselves and there is none
Except me, no ...