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The night is dry and dull as the youth
Of spring sprouts upon the wind,
Blowing a whole season;
Killing a whole stock of time.
Dumb do tell about the past.
Recollecting the sudden dash of love
Younger than that of the face lit by the moon.
Man do tell how it went
And accepted thy fate as if it ended in accord to his plan.
Defiling the surreal emotions
With forced lies so obvious, so surfaced.
Man do tell the play best set on
New Years Day- a front, an excuse for an elusive okay.
Florian illness spiked in the crib of nonsense.
M/On Vaudeville's Edge
(M/On Vaudeville's Edge)
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