The microphones

I have been told that my skin is exceptionally smooth

The microphones
Should there be songs?
Should my hair be long?
Should my stare be strong?
Do nightmares belong, in a prerie dawn?
Should thy prayers be bronzed?
Do I dare to phone, over fair faced barns?
Our fears surround
Do I stare when I'm gone
Should there be bonds?
I have been told,
that my skin is exceptionally smooth
But what good is that?
When to get to my heart
You have to crawl through long tunnels of sharp rock
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