Imagine then the smell of dust and humid air in forgotten places, forgotten by us, yet they stand afoot this places and so do old friendships and dreams, can you kenit? They are there lodgging in the deepest darkness of our subconcius, our own limbo, where nothing moves, nor crys, nor laughs, staticness just waiting there eternaly for someone to rediscover them......the lost and the found....
left behind
Windmill for the Land
Lost & Found
Prepare for take off...
399
...and below came the screams
The Eye Of The Storm
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