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Jul 2014
When my cells wont replicate themselves any more,
I'll have to bribe saint Peter on the door
I miss smoking lucky strike
I miss that my cat eased my troubled mind
I miss the weight of the world in my palm
I should have broken Crispin's arms
when I had the chance.
And when the rage that I have saved throws me overboard,
it best weight me down with cannonballs
because I'm a real good swimmer
I had all the awards.
Written by
alex welsh
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