He slips the clean shirt over his muscled-up black shoulders. Takes his shoes and socks off and slides his feet into Nike sandals.
Love and fear were now dehumanised products, trapped beneath his skin but cooking up a storm inside.
While their worth is unquestionable, these arias do not equate in form or intention with the classically defined art song. Yet, art song does exist in Italy in a large body of works known as liriche da camera — compositions for solo voice and piano […]
They sat on a park bench and tossed bread crumbs to the ducks and pigeons.
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