| Gold and crimson tinged, flittering leaves litter the streets
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| Sitting beneath the trees, she sleeps innocently
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| Didn’t believe that a being so beautiful flew this low
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| Using slumber to stun others with features almost musical
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| And when her low notes, my soul hopes for something more than friendly
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| When her golden notes hit other folks, I feel close to envy
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| I’d never wake her, but if the slumber ever ceases
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| I would rouse her with my kisses and tussle with her demons
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| Seemingly familiar even though I know I’ve never met her
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| Like I send a dream in a letter to heaven and it sent her
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| Went
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| Word
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| Sent word to others
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| There’s a lover, never met, yet she’s sleeping in my covers
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| There ain’t no others, count the rubbers up to prove it
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| Don’t want to be the nuisance always asking, «Wanna do it?»
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| I’d run through it
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| Shoot, my lingua’s always fluent
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| And even if our paths don’t cross, I know our wants are congruent
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| So pursue it incessantly
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| Her exceptional essence and presence is testing my sensory, incessantly
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| Does destiny beckon me to set next to thee, indefinitely
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| «Yes,» says the memories, incessantly
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| Then with the best of me, let it be
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| To quest for the recipe
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| To wrestle the delicate thread imbedded in the chest of she
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| So string-heart heads to me
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| Yes indeed
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| Let’s proceed
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| Sensibly, in depth, pensively, yet intensely
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| She made my heartsprings stretch screams like guitar string-fret swing sets
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| Yet she still left when chills crept through the treble clefs
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| Better get another pump bolted in, it broke again
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| It’s housings are rusted, it’s only tin
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| June '93, rock-a-bye baby
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| Waking up out of the tree
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| Was she smiling at me?
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| (Who?)
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| Me with the hat back, knapsack, no tact
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| Told her I watched her sleep and read her my amorous raps
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| She loved that, a pleasant surprise
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| Then she went with whatever like a drink and some fries
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| All right Ms. Honey B. Devine
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| She offered me a ride, and yet we ended up talking all night
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| The reason why
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| You know the steelo
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| Summer of the Skee-o, the way a brother speak low
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| Yo, I’m not endorsing no reckless endangering
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| But I ran out of condoms like a modern Wilt Chamberlain
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| Check the hussle
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| Send a shrug towards the struggle
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| Listerine and Al Green to squeeze a fuck out of a cuddle
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| But stuck out of the huddle whenever my friends swoop through
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| I say, «You're barking up the wrong tree»
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| They say, «She duped you»
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| Who, you mean my boo?
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| You’re just mad 'cuz she don’t like you
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| Snapping at what I have, that’s the damage of spite, fool
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| Take a bite, dude
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| You ain’t even got the plums that I do
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| Go write a haiku and talk about all that’s inside you
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| Boy, was I cool
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| 'Til the lightning strike split the divining tool that led my eyes to
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| The tree of life inside of you
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| It withered and died too soon
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| A little each time you pruned the beautiful side of truth by lying about
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| Who else was laying beside you |