i_will_hang_my_head_low crOwl tall as ships, we walked into the foyer as if threadbare no one would notice how blind we were, each feather hanging from skin. we hung our head s low, but didn't have to, nobody really cared. those were the days when we made up words , as if someone other than us would speak the language. we defined terms by what we observed. if the sun was constant, we called it "constance d'orio" and it meant the future was worth waking up for. 061222 what's it to you? who go blather from