Nostalgi

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Wow, I´m sick of doubt
Live in the light of certain South
Cruel bindings
The servants have the power
Dog men and their mean women
Pulling poor blankets over our sailors
I´m sick of dour faces
Staring at me from the T.V. Tower
I want roses in my garden bower; dig?
Royal babies, rubies
Must now replace aborted
Strangers in the mud
These mutants, blood meal
for the plant that´s plowed


<3
Jims poesi var något ut över det vanliga...

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