Hollow heavens hint at being one-half hell. Hours flow down sinful rivers. Hopeful. Or is hope lost? All is never lost. My hardened heart turns soft in the headlights of her.
Her Name is Calla – the hour of gloam
Hollow heavens hint at being one-half hell. Hours flow down sinful rivers. Hopeful. Or is hope lost? All is never lost. My hardened heart turns soft in the headlights of her.
Her Name is Calla – the hour of gloam
reflections of an unquiet mind 