It’s the addiction to your slaving eyes. The great old lie. My lowered life. And what we praise are majestic nights in the eclipse of neon lights. And my love is housed in suburban affection. Death and blood brings us so close to perfection. When the skyline melts in sun ray heat and we fly by time like dandelion seeds. We streak hand in hand through Brooklyn’s streets but speak one word and I will cease simultaneously.
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