When it all began to unravel
We were with him ’til sour became his flower – wilted and terrifically uprooted, above all else the truth stood out
Alcohol his only watering-hole of ferociously miss-giving sorts, he really ought to have known better, yet he didn’t
Right from the beginning it does indeed seem
If I could permit him his existence all over again I simply would if I just could
He hoodwinked us the sonofagun

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