| Two faces lit by candlelight
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| Speaking over food and drink
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| And drink, and drink, and drink’s insight
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| I’m the self I want to be
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| A city that’s not home
|
| No other squirming around in me
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| Feel myself open up wide
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| Beautiful, you sit across
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| Out spills that story: I’m broken
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| In
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| Tale of loss of self I hide. |
| («You've been here before.»)
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| Getting drunker, edges blur
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| Look up, black sky:
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| «You are one mind creating night
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| Across from you is everyone
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| And of course you are going to die
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| And this will fade, but that’s alright
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| There’s no light but you will see:---»
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| ---Smell of salt in air, of sea
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| Wakes me from my solipsistic, narcissistic reverie
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| Clinging to things I can’t express
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| I suggest we leave
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| As they fade we walk up the street
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| We take a shower to cool off
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| Warm steam of bodies rises up
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| Away it floats, a person cloud
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| Right through the window
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| The smell of soap and hair
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| Rising above the city
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| Meshing with the dark air:
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| All the other human clouds, unanswered prayers
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| «Alive in your memory, living in the air
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| When you die is it still there?» |