Vox Minors.

Time it is to throw away the sunsongs of the morning.
An A-major jars in the swaying lament of the night. Trebles slide up seven frets and catch moodswings in their sound,  bronze bass notes drop like stones in the graveyard of our songs.
9 p.m. e-minors me.   

Who more can I tell.

Don't let me hold you up.

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