A sky as white as clay stretches ahead for miles. The trees have been razored to the ground. A film of floodwater lies smooth and undisturbed, a sheet of mirror to the creeping, clay-white sky.
Pick up your name. Brush off the grime. Hold it in your fist and take great gliding strides. Make for the horizon.
Bersarin Quartett - Mehr Als Alles Andere
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