Morning, midday, or late at night...
Open armed songs
sang from the
shiftless box...
She's not Helen of Troy,
although her beauty's launched dreams...
When I first said, "I love you,"
it wasn't the first I knew...
Sappy, sappy, sappy,
sugar, sugar sweet,
your plethora of platitudes...
Everyone's bitching and chewing
my life and spitting...
She's living like a gypsy,
dancing wild around the fire,
just a click from decency...
Wake up in the morning...
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