You can rely on the old's man money as per
Daryll Hall and John Oates
A dung in the dark
stepped on by the frailties of life
or some sunset
that begets her stupidity
in between
transitioning and
desiring
and beginning
to dream again
maybe life is all too practical it seems
and the same old routine
they've passed on to
these people.
Another one dies in shambles
in her anxieties that eat up her time
and as a sleeping beagle
it cuts her throat into thinking
this must be it
sweet serenity in the midst
in the midst of forgetting
and remembering
things that transpire
without the passage of time
or counting the steps to the door
of someone's heart
and her worth relies on her dues paid/unpaid
Don't let them win.
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