It was a thing with a head like a spud ball
It was a song, the song we were looking for I always have to state to myself
It has nothing to do with me
He has nothing
He is not me
(His vendetta parchment) Floating grey abundance
Against my palace of conscience
(Our hero deeply loved
Moonlit walked past privet and wide I'll tell you of the rats in this world
Fawning in place with The Face
Men coming between each other
For the sake of a two(It is headless)
Worth $5 in London
And cursed anon.
Our hero, still deeply loved
Moonlit walks past privet and wide leaved
It was no more a net of mesh
It was class
He did not blink a lid
He braced his selfAnd breeze
And it was class
And no noEver had this? Their follies are strong liberation.
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