we are the hollow men/we are the stuffed men/in a wasteland of sparks/where the stars have grown sparse/and all that could wash us/we fear has been washed away/and we will stay blind unless/we are seen/unless the starlight lasts/above the garden path and the rose/takes shape in the morning shaft/and the eyes we dared not meet/come down to find us in the fading street


there's grit between my teeth/there's soil falling through my hands/you hate nothing you have made/i will remember i am clay/there's grit within my bones/there's soil falling through my soul/if i remember i am clay/it must be an act of grace

Hannah Hubin & Ella M