Waiting in line, just frightful, wanting, desperately needing for everything to turn out alright
Harsh times, cold beer and wine inbetween a rather remarkable sleight of hand
Surprisingly sumptuous lines that paint a perfect picture, all par of the course, an exhaustive albeit more often than not progressive procedure
Voices in almighty slur but never a trace of blasphemous candour when it came to the choice of words that filled their page
Down-and-outs, irreversible drop-outs with no place to go, fuelled by irresistible rage
A burning desire, a serendipitous pathway of unquenchable flames, necessary fires
The parents are the ones we need to blame

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