take me to the lakes
where all the poets went to die
i don’t belong and my beloved neither do you
those windermere peaks
look like a perfect place to cry
i’m setting off, but not without my muse
t.s. - the lakes.
(via narcotic)
f
take me to the lakes
where all the poets went to die
i don’t belong and my beloved neither do you
those windermere peaks
look like a perfect place to cry
i’m setting off, but not without my muse
t.s. - the lakes.
(via narcotic)