Don’t be too careful
How your hand moves
Where the border is
Come we’ll erase
Everything
Im here you are
Here too unseen
There too unseen
Ive felt this with cake
I feel it with kinks
Very soon you’ll ask
How I feel and I’ll say
Im passing out
A song to make
You stay would
Have to be
Rewritten everyday
But you know
Im not a jiver
Only in my ear
your saliva
i have prepared a little speech on the nature of music and its place in our lives. but i am not prepared to deliver it. oh how it makes my effort squeal to see my studious disinclination. are the pigs dying. did i enjoy my dinner. can there be a connection. these and severe more questions are now tormenting wajud. architect manque of the bara imambara.
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