I turn on the radio, there's some cat on the saxophone, laying down a litany of excuses. There's madhouse longing in my eyes i rub the lamp between my thighs and hope the genie comes out singing. I live in some forgotten song and move like i'm zombie-strong, breathe steady as the pendulum keeps swinging.
but darling, we can clearly see it's all life and fire and lunacy and excuses and excuses and excuses
Silves
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