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Late at night, the broken spirits sit on barstools, hunched over the counter like question marks They ponder their place in this world They drown their sorrows in bourbon to escape the outer flood attempting to engulf them
You love my purfume I can tell By the way you close your eyes I trigered something   Wrapping your hands around  My small frame fits perfectly You grip me tighter so I dont slip  
Hard working father, scraping by, stares at the photo he keeps in his box Soon as it hits 5, he’s off the clock
I could live without, but I don't want to. I couldn't start my day right, and my nights wouldn't be the same. The heat wouldn't run through my veins, not through me at all. Life would drag,
to drink is good; good for the soul, though only if, you lack self control.   imagine this; picture it quick; you've drunk until you're not quite sick,  
he clicks his tongue at me like I am a dog in response I will howl in his face
Prude. Censuring. Perfect little girl. Am I a prude when I dislike foul words? And promiscuity is not something I adore: But how can I be perfect if you claim that I’m a churl?  
Friday night started wonderfully We never thought it would be our last. But you both were going to quickly, It all happened pretty fast.   We pulled up to an intersection,
Why do I fly down the streets at night, 
Running Running FUNNING running Funneling grape soda and cranberry juice through a lemon squeezer Why not? It’s all pointless anyway. Birds fall out of the sky like
Don't text and drive But that's for a car Text and bike? You already know   Bikes are useful to get around So are skateboards Which gets negative critic? The one you don't hold on to
Those little children! They hold it well, but they haven't gone nearly as far as we. They don't depend  on this stuff, this bliss quite as fully as me.
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