It’s only the old boys who call through the trees. Sucking the mist up, I guess it was real, and they’ve got guns. Now I don’t hear them, having shut the shades and secured locks on every door I can lock. Sure that if I second guess my work and stick my head out, it’ll blow off in one shot. And who wants to sleep by her who death becomes, someone who sleeps with her neck in reverse? It’s only me. You look at me. I turn around and wonder, am I dreaming? Nidgeting a startled pulse out of a little calf with your knee. I foresee us undercover faking darker habits. Better call it off before me, or be in this picture with me. Fell for a bone bag who sank in my stream. Now you better dry off so nobody sees. It’s only the old boys who reserve the rooms, and it’s only oxygal accepts the key. Solve for a way just to stifle the mim. Gets so complacent when he swallows my fingers. Did all I could just to keep you around, so while you stand around, be in this picture with me. Fell for a bombshell who tripped in my street. Now we better part ways so nobody sees. Sucking the mist up, I guess it was real. Good thing I taught you the backstroke you hate.
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