Out to sea there is the snap of a castanet, Boats are going down to the tune of the bolero. Sovereigns are sifted by old storms. A bull, bleeding profusely, makes for Grange.
Out to sea
there is the snap of a castanet,
Boats are going down
to the tune of the bolero.
Sovereigns are sifted
by old storms.
A bull, bleeding profusely,
makes for Grange.
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