why do I always write about her.

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your buzzing bizarre eyes were racing with the cars on the highway . we're you winning ?
or were we dreaming again , my bedtime lover .

do you want to run away , away , away ?

we can have a picnic on the sun , can't we .

our dance lessons will begin at four thirty , early , i know . but the moon will thank us for using her skin like a love machine
.
.
.
we both know nothing works out .
we will never be happy , not one hundred percent .
and that there is the sick reality .
we will never be together and content .

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