Eyes soda at night jazz
I can not leave this small syndrome:
you dissolve into the ice and keep growing
for voice over the nests of swallows skinned;
sad as the range on windy days ...
relapse into my stitches, I had surgery again and again
agrededes with your surgeries held back tears at the empty glasses, now on the Rocks
I can only serve me whiskey and soda before your eyes ...
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