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Hands in your Pockets
02:48
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The bricks now lay in a pungent hush,
yet the house bleeds plumes of a tenor hum
The beautiful youth they flutter
with arched wrists marching on
Mornings coiled pulse still sorbent in their hearts
never questioning that beauty is not eternal
and in-existence is kissable
for now the midnight birds generously send the curtains
but the ornament of ugliness now lingers with dearness
in a place where guardian angels brawl like nighthawks
and the moonlight songsmiths no longer serenade cliches
instead bolt-action lovebirds blood-stain keepsakes
peace don't arrive at it's divorce from truth
but may we for a moment
love the flutter of beautiful youth
the head man jangles his head man keys
and my thoughts are in my dahlia dreams
the naked angels in the corridors
all sing with screams of the praying corpse
the storm it strums it's tormenting strut
and I become the moth, the aching gut
the floors become a gallery of dust
and the light bearly peaks through the curtain truss
I age with each amen that leaks from me
to sell a bullet for a soul fee
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