These times were trying to say the very least
Winterburn knowing full well that perfection was his only real chance anymore
To dance rather than quarrel with memorised angels – the same ones who once upon a time promised him all sorts of everything
A fair while ago, when it had all started to make a whole lot more sense
Drenched by all kinds of serendipitous perfection – what is utterly problematic besieged by Dry Gin & tonic
Neglecting to include anything oh so very painful as this perhaps, placed right to the back where they would have to track their very own preposterous downfall
Stand tall but be prepared to be quenched each and every soliloquy way known to any desperate man such as
That is ’til his veteran life got sounded the entire way out, routed right back to a misspent youth and agonisingly reminded all over again
Of the price he would finally need to pay, all courtesy of the troublesome words he had forced himself to relay via this rather two-edged pen
Way back when a mind did anything whatsoever to find a surefire answer

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