Ten of them
One more pretty than the last
Exact replica insane
But one held a stain – coffee cup to blame
For this artist had waited it out
Given his lovelorn next door neighbour a shout
Between these sheets lay typically sordid detail, albeit back in this room a serious gloom tarnishing itself on over
Stealing his hopes and glory
Seems, however, ’twas what raised the sell – the background process, dogged story
When it was all about clout over reason
A man’s mind-prison getting unleashed above all else

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