“But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.”

E. Hemingway.
"París era una fiesta"

Monday, 3 September 2012

Rags And Old Iron

So I asked that old rag man how much he would pay 
For a heart that was broken, baby, when you went away.
For a burnt out old love light that no longer beams 
And a couple of slightly used second hand dreams.
 Rags and old iron, rags and old iron.
All he was buying was just rags and old iron.


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