| Three dozen cycles, give or take a sum,
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| The sum of that experience — how to keep running.
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| O I know justice, it’s a birthright if you’re born right,
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| and I know how handsome is that trick of the light,
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| So don’t be mistaken in thinking I’ll do right
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| given the chance to do wrong again and again.
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| Summer romeos casing the park,
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| by the uniform urinals of love’s rural province.
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| O don’t you know time, with its petty vial of sands,
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| inscrutable face and merciless hands?
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| And don’t you know love?
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| It’s a whirlwind of feathers,
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| tickles you to your nethers and leaves a terrain of despair…
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| And I know when grief goes unchecked,
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| There’s a kind of relief in the wreckage for the wrecked…
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| Weren’t you alone last time I saw you?
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| How do you keep running from the world and the war?
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| O I know young fathers who once were like soldiers,
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| AWOL in flung places
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| or without standing orders,
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| Alarming approaches to time and it’s killing,
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| no victimless crime again and again.
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| Monday night, Goodies and The Doctor,
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| Now that bath time’s over, time for pyjamas.
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| O I know self pity, it begins with nostalgia,
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| and you’ll die of melancholy if the dolor don’t get ya,
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| And I know a poem on a wall next to a picture
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| of a dick and a fanny, by a smear of regret.
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| And it sings of its own long demise, something about imperium,
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| and a new sun will rise,
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| and «O please don’t go with those horrible guys, they only want one thing.»
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| O please don’t go with those horrible guys, they only want one thing,
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| Again and again. |