His hair remained utterly unkempt but it worked nonetheless
A fastidious, multi-layered sonuvabitch
Willing to stitch himself on up every other
An ageing and old alcoholic mother, a father equally so down upon his dire luck – these cards having always played themselves out just the wrong way
He simply says what he sees, no such shark-eyes going on about the place
His own haircut loosely replicating that of his mirror-image son
So, really, the apple hadn’t fallen that far at all
These days, albeit sun-soaked, were in real despair
The flair no longer there
Pull this string and get to go again
‘Til finally smiling atop getting to set the bar far, far higher
When everyone smiles minus that taste of bitter-sweet whiskey sour against the lips
Begrudgingly ill-equipped
‘Til entirely taking the edge right the whole way off, softer than soft human-beings either way
Nothing but multi-coloured centipedes right about now
Rest-assured, they will try and manically wobble on regardless of this

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