marc bolan - wind quartets lyrics
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the wind quartet howls softly
my jeep hand strokes her necklace
crusted, crammed with old etruscan gold.
her bird head torn with summer
inspects a spartan runner
robbing time a chosen prince of speed
my goblet drenched with autumn
tears for my dead cat ena
silver surfer sorcerer of spray.
she headed deep in chartreuse
a falcon glimpse of white teeth
separated by lace cinnamon folds.
we hid and rid in hansom
cab wrenched from lost byzantium
lordlett who once held the earth in chains
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