This fair vinyl won’t stop scratching
We’ve an itch to reach which seems to screech to an oh so sudden stop all if its own
Feel free to step on in with your wicker-work accordion if needs be
Please, oh please go so far as to momentarily entice me
My heart will dart ’til these stills finally start to complete themselves all over and over again
The pen is dry and there’s a shelf full of memories that need to be fastened rather heavily in place
The race is on, where in the name of Christ is our song?

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