| The casual walker-by below our yellow windowpanes
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| Must look up through the city lights and feel the same
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| As we wonder why in our beds above the darkening streets
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| «With some sense of shared human secrecy»
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| Mostly crazed by thoughts of paint peeling at the seams
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| As the tiles on my shower wall crack at the base
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| Retracing every anxious line
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| Reflecting how they fell apart
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| I never want to come undone or unravel jealous in the wind
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| And I’ll say it again
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| I’m not afraid to die
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| Just scared to live alone with you
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| Drunk in the morning
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| I woke to Dragon’s breath and summer tugging at my sheets to pull me out of bed
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| Drunk in the night
|
| I swear I saw a raven grow black as your hair
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| Out of your thoughts, into the sky and through the outer holds
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| One year ago I watched dance across a wedding floor
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| In a bridesmaids dress that fell to pieces at your feet
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| Could you not see?
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| So many thoughts came unsummoned to me then
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| Unuttered on the car ride home
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| Before you left for the new world in shades of blue
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| I woke yesterday to no one lying by my side
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| Just empty pictures frames and broken dresser drawers
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| Where did you go?
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| I’ve try to hold my hatred in composure
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| But your dress will not stop slipping
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| And your words are ripping through my simple mind
|
| And I’ll say it again
|
| I’m not afraid to die
|
| Just scared to live alone with you
|
| We’re more than young-fucked-in-the-morning-sun
|
| By some drunker-than-New-Years-Eve-Holy-seraphim-on-Haight-Street
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| Coffee shop poetics on love and drugs and War and Peace
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| I can’t believe what they say to me
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| I can’t believe what they did to you |