Toward atoll she will roll,
For a gold for the soul.
A requirement for bravery,
All she will touch be lined silvery.
The heart bleeds as it yawns,
For she will never settle for bronze.
Writings of a Phobophobe.
Toward atoll she will roll,
For a gold for the soul.
A requirement for bravery,
All she will touch be lined silvery.
The heart bleeds as it yawns,
For she will never settle for bronze.
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