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Day day day day... |
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Day day day day... |
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The next day |
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The exact same nurse is standing with her back to me at every last |
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Every last passing bus stop (x4) |
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Only this time, what looks like a small stack of bills with bat wings |
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Hovering just beside her |
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They're bound together by a narrow wishbone, |
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Beneath it rests a large |
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bowl full, bowl full of some |
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Indifferent fruit waxen looking still |
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Atop a three quarter length corinthian column |
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To the left, is a rather fit "right" woman's left leg, |
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Buried thigh deep in the hallowed and wood-chip topped bus stop grounds |
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The planted lady's leg looking clean shaven and hot |
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Sweat beading up about its calf in the black avenue amplified sun |
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An eye blue high heel jut in full bloom on its visible end |
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And so you get off |
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To find two suits arguing silent |
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Before a double-parked and obviously unmarked cop car |
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The blown-up head flesh of two big business men, a-hover above them |
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A good foot or two of twine dangling from their tied off throats, |
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Running down into their hollowed dress shirt collar mouths |
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You over hear them mutter something serious about |
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The second hand emotion |
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And then comes something like semi-poetic directions |
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A ways down commerce. then turn, dead straight into ashe |
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And so you walk, |
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Predicting all possible presents in ever to bits, and back |
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From the bed to the bills you see nothing but |
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Pit within (x10) |
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So long gone (x8) |
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From the bed to the bills you see nothing but pit within pit |
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And an undeniable feeding |
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on you |
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(x5) |
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From the bed to the bills you see nothing but pit within pit |
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And more this |
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A honey smothered hand gun all covered in ants, |
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Trembles on a three quarter length corinthian column |
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(x15) |