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I have a pen, she said |
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But it's broke, it's bereft |
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Without its hand I don't understand |
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I don't understand |
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I'm given in to the deluge of age |
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Shit off a shovel and shit by the spade |
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Where does the colour go |
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When the flowers grow old? |
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In my darkest hour |
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I lie down in the arms of these flowers |
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The grass is so soft like hair |
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In our crumpled skirts we sit there |
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Wet and licking the quivering air |
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The voluptuous air |
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I'm given in to the deluge of age |
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Shit off a shovel and shit by the spade |
|
Where does the colour go |
|
When the flowers grow old? |
|
In my darkest hour |
|
I lie down in the arms of these flowers |
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Herein pornography |
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Two tear inevitably |
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A butterfly so delicately |
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On her wet lips slips |
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And she sucks it in |
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And she sucks it in |
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I'm given in to the deluge of age |
|
Shit off a shovel and shit by the spade |
|
Where does the colour go |
|
When the flowers grow old? |
|
In my darkest hour |
|
I lie down in the arms of these flowers |