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Oct 5
As a rich kid sentimental crucify
I go out lurking in the black of night
To see the moon and copy down the phase I lie
And forget it
It’s all lurid sky

My face is blurry till the scope reminds the world
It’s a jungle and you go home to bed
Insane men know, never understand
And achieve light like the bandit who stole
The girl that ran away with someone else
Written by
Trout  Chicago
(Chicago)   
44
 
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