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Fight for me,*
The way we see,
The world alone.
I found you on the other side of the road,
an ocean's distance far.
Floating on the cloud you sang,
"Please don't get the best of me,
there is an itch I can't hold on to.
It's the only thing I feel,
its a pain I want to linger,
just to know I'm real."
Late night,
the stars sigh,
blinking far away.
Your voice,
your arms there,
I know you're here to stay.

Their lights are far away,
the wind will bring what may,
I wont sway
I wont stray
so please stay
the night.
It's a soft light
from the window
on your face.
You do not know me.
And I know nothing of you.

But we have met before.
A hundred thousand times.

And you are mine.

Mine in the way I hold you in my thoughts.
Mine in how I want to see you again.
Mine in the way my thoughts wander to yours, and
when I speak, you listen.
I am yours,
I hope.

Come find me in the bushes where I lay in the open sun,
the dirt feels wet and cozy, and
the leaves in my hair remind me of your fingers.

I've had your nearly love for weeks
too long,
and my skin is growing tight.
It's just a formality,
when speaking of spirituality
to keep out the mortality
of our commonality
of morality
One a time upon an egg,
it was the wall that fell,
and jack had fallen up the hill,
and empty was the well.

The frog had kissed the princess,
and a wart had blossomed there,
And the old lady had no children,
in a house she lived quite fair.

And while Mary's lamb stayed in the field,
Ms. Muffet ate porridge instead,
And the mice could really see quite well,
and the stout little tea *** was made out of lead.

This is the land I live in,
Of backward tales you see,
For while I am quite young and fair,
There is no Prince to rescue me.

And here the hare really won the race,
because he was so fast.
And Daisy then said yes to marriage,
without even being asked.

And the Bears invited Goldiehair-
(She didn't have the curls).
And here the wolves both big and bad,
Didn't eat little pigs or red-hooded girls.

The kittens never lost their mittens,
And King Cole let the black birds fly,
And Mary just grew pickles,
And the littlest piggy didn't cry.

This is the land I live in,
Of backward tales you see,
For while I am quite young and fair,
There is no Prince to rescue me.

And while one Jack demanded gold
from the man who offered beans,
Another landed on a candle stick
And burned right through his jeans.

And while Grandma now lives by route 62,
the river and woods cleared away.
London Bridge never fell,
But they'll tear it down too someday.

Old McDonald had no pets
and Ms. Mary Mack dressed in blue.
And this Old Man just walked home,
And oh! One, two, we tied our shoes!

This is the land I live in,
Of backward tales you see,
For while I am quite young and fair,
There is no Prince to rescue me.

And while Jack Horner sat at the table
to say “What a bad boy am I!”
All the children laughed and played
While the witch enjoyed her pie.

And little boy blue and brother john
always wake up on time.
And the little girl bought the ginger bread man,
from the baker, for just a dime.

And while Mrs. Betty Botter ordered pizza,
and the goose laid a silver egg,
the cradle was safe in the new tree house,
and we walked to our loos on two legs.

And we all know the Muffin Man,
who sells coffee now.
And the moon up there, he really wished,
He could jump over the cow.

And the wheels on the bus don't go round anymore,
we all take the train,
and the farmer finally moved out of the dell,
the busy house was a pain.

And all the stars here twinkle,
and we don't fall around the rosie,
the weasel is to nice to pop any more,
and bed made of peas, the princess is cozy.

This is the land I live in,
Oh who is that at the door?
Oh, go away young, fair Prince,
There is no one here to rescue, anymore.
Night.
I always write at night.

Find me the happy medium,
between intoxicated and sober,
that straight on the razors edge,
the comfortable exhilarating feeling I have when I am with you,
all alone at night,
under the millions of stars in the vast lonely sky.

With you, my soul,
I battle the urge to dance,
and to sleep
to feel,
and to empty them into the white blank page
filled with letters 26,
only 26
with billions of opportunities.

White at night I see you.

Black in the sky and bright white light with the
small,
black,
line,
blinking.
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