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Rain goes perfect |
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with a Nosdam mixtape. |
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The last streetlights |
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stay on well after dawn. |
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Kings fall to fawns-- |
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He dropped the needle, |
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let the song say it. |
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The kind of morgue with a |
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gong to tell you when; |
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but the room's rules bend |
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and the staff will make you laugh. |
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My dad wore this face in old photographs. |
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Calico cats out stare me from |
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behind a junkyard fence. |
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High on Khat, I let my stare |
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go soft, but pretend it's not. |
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When I'm eyed, I tongue my bottom teeth |
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and look at the sidewalk in front of me |
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as my tennis shoes go |
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in and out of the frame. |
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Another sleuth-fooled empty 'Y' |
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walking on goose eggs in the mission |
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swap-meet, brown, '31', fishnet |
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hat cocked to the right. |
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I only played chess once in my life, |
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and I lost. |
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Looks like a sky |
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for shoeing horses under. |
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Looks like a good sky |
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to die under. |