When we see all of these majestic and rather magical things
String it manically along, sizeable ability by imaginative accord – swarming ’til warming our stop-start hearts again
Treasure everything
When we smashed our whiskey glasses, perhaps a little or a whole lot besotted by these sudden memories we do make
All of nothing at stake – shake your snake-hips pretty little lady
Let yourself be a piece of this particularly peculiar story
All hope soaked in momentary glory – drunken punks, floundering to pound the tapestried pavements of our boisterous beings
Turn to me, for I’m about to sing for my last supper
No-one dare ever interrupt me
I will roll my utterly bespoke cigarette while you draw them all in

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