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Jan 2013
It wasn't the middle of the night
It wasn't wanted
Unsure if you'd let me cross your threshold
But I thought you might

I'm always on my Last One
And you're always out to get some
If only I could take those threads
Tie them in a knot
Make them work
Maybe now I wouldn't have none

Like a thin veil
It consumes me
And all the thoughts
Unwanted
In the middle of the night
Don't make any sense
Never work in my favor
Now they're all I have

There you are
A bird flying into the distance
And slowly I forget
If you were even real to begin with
Ann Beaver
Written by
Ann Beaver
384
 
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