With my old guitar I’d go,
out the back window
to where the weed stems
were shaved to whistles.
And with each strum
and hum, I heard a song
blooming in that scenery.
I’d try to learn that song
before it shriveled away.
-Matthew Haughton
With my old guitar I’d go,
out the back window
to where the weed stems
were shaved to whistles.
And with each strum
and hum, I heard a song
blooming in that scenery.
I’d try to learn that song
before it shriveled away.
-Matthew Haughton
Beautiful.
Somehow, I have a Bob Dylan image. Beautiful.
trapanese lofi hip hop
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