Sieara Claytor

“Climb
Is all we know
When thaw
Is not below us
No, can't grow up
In that iron ground
Claire, all too sore for sound
Bet
Is hardly shown
Scraped
Across the foam
Like they stole it
And oh, how they hold it
Claire, we nearly forfeit
I, I'm growing like the quickening hues
I, I'm telling darkness from lines on you
Over havens fora full and swollen morass, young habitat
All been living alone, where the ice snap and the hold clast are known
Home
We're savage high
Come
We finally cry
Oh and we don it
Because it's right
Claire, I was too sore for sight
I, we're sewing up through the latchet greens
I, un-peel keenness, honey, bean for bean
Same white pillar tone as with the bone street sand is thrown where she stashed us at
All been living alone, where the cracks at in the low part of the stoning”
― Bon Iver