In the white pillow digs
Been down to yours
Spare the moonlit sorrow
While the red lips grow
All the senses cry for
Some meaner tricks
To your sixth sense sorrow
Bury me deep
What you were yesterday
You can't hold them back
While your age crisis sway back and forth
Your misfit jeans that stay in cupboard
Your endless trial for looking for love
And last good try to dream like before
Had finished burning every bit of paper
It had been just a part of misfortune
Burns are a common thingy
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