The rhythm of her life is such
That others cannot comprehend.
And words drip from her tongue
Like the juice from a ripe peach
Lingering in the fragrant air til
They are washed away by the
Liquid laughter of a woman child
With eyes forged in the fires of Pele.
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And words drip from her tongue
Like the juice from a ripe peach
Lingering in the fragrant air til
They are washed away by the
Liquid laughter of a woman child
With eyes forged in the fires of Pele.