human pollen drifting dust
dancing on gusts and thrusts
and evermore these peeled hands
miss their skin and don’t understand
exactly where it is they’ve been
can’t be one of those kind of men
Love was never about possession
just another coward’s confession
And I wonder how ugly I can get
inside this damp skull doomed to forget
railroading desires and determinations
waiting for trains in empty stations
spastic laughing and gasping back slabs of past
knowing all too well that it may have been the last
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