westend bus towards wit's end

I took the westend bus towards my wit’s end, pulling through the rain and the broken lights. It’s over, the birds have gone for Halcyon South, along with the music and the dance. Here we are, it’s a chilly winter’s day, no snow all tempest and graying leaves on the faded asphalt. Kiss the sun goodbye, it’s not going to kiss you back anymore, there will just be tears on pale cheeks and rivers long gone dry, ghost towns blowing in the dusty wind.

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