as the sounds of footsteps quietly die
and the sun gets much lower,
and voices fade to thinner;
the "Death of Space" in that particularly cold interval,
where even a flick of a dried out leaf crunches loud,
The space awaits -
for the next rush hour to wear on.
and the sun gets much lower,
and voices fade to thinner;
the "Death of Space" in that particularly cold interval,
where even a flick of a dried out leaf crunches loud,
The space awaits -
for the next rush hour to wear on.
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