| Going off on a tangent, I’ve barely sort through
|
| Sooner or later, what difference I’m not sure
|
| Admired handwriting
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| What’s the point in trying to prove subtle intuition to you
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| When it’s clear to me?
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| Flowers decay on the sill, lights and incense made me ill
|
| Am I expected to ignore?
|
| Once a week, don’t speak too often
|
| You want Atlantic grandeur
|
| Thought I’d stay to keep you out of frame
|
| But you got in the shot anyway
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| I gave in the upper hand
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| Shakespearean disorder
|
| Short of proof these lies extend
|
| No disclaimer to soften the blow
|
| You went out last night
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| Directions carved into the ceiling
|
| Then what happened?
|
| Am I expected to ignore?
|
| Once a week, don’t speak too often
|
| You want Atlantic grandeur
|
| Thought I’d stay to keep you out of frame, unlikely
|
| So impressed by steady hands
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| The perfect lighting and placement
|
| So you made it more than that
|
| Knew that I would see
|
| And now you’ve made your statement
|
| But never had to say it
|
| Flowers decay on the sill, made me ill |