The kettle's on, the sun has gone, another day. She oiffers me Tibetan tea on a flower tray. She's at the door, she wants to score. She really needs to say. I loved you a long time ago, you know. Where the wind's own forget-me-nots blow. But I just couldn't let myself go. Not knowing what on earth there was to know. But I wish that I had 'cause I'm feeling so sad. That I never had one of your children. Across the room, inside the tomb, a chance has waxed and waned. The night is young, why are we so hung up in each other's jeans? I must take her. I must make her while the dove domains. And feel the juice run as she flies. Run my wings under her sighs. As the flames of eternity rise. To lick us with the first born lash of dawn. Oh really my dear I can't see what we fear. Standing here with ourselves in between us. And at the door, we can't say more, than just another day. And without a sound, I turn around, and walk away.
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