now we're back to the slumps, after a gleeful sheer over uncracked ice.
there was blonde hope, there could still be a sunrise to encourage,
but there's hardly a point in hoping so b/c my tolerance
for waiting is hidden by my intoxicated idea of a calendar
and distracting, oh! my scope.
but there are things to thing me.
Even with the rest belated
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i can hear that song in my head but can't recall who sings it.
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