Silent somber shuffles
of a forgotten box-step
floating obliviously
over bared souls
and buried secrets-
some birds fly
south for the winter
and some forget
how to come home.
In the next song
I will dip you
if you promise
to think of me.
I'm going to be an even bigger pompous ass than normal and use this neglected space to create a shrine to me and my own brand of slung crap. Don't worry, I'll be gentle.
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