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trf Jul 2018
youthful years, now reduced
when right angles were obtuse
find my path of lost tracks
feathered freight in the caboose

falling sand, hour glass
shades the moon from the cracks
'neath the back porch lies the dog
who howls when sand runs out

whispered winds
don't you lie
and try to save my sins
whispered winds
don't you lie
don't you die

dreary days, losing weight
i call out but cannot say
what is wrong, i'm ok
let's talk the ******* fake

fever chills, alone to face
california king's embrace
i stretch out, all my regrets
and dream of an escape

whispered winds
don't you lie
and try to save my sins
whispered winds
don't you lie
don't you die
Her caboose
makes me
never want
to leave
the station

— The End —