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you're running, your mouth won't help keep stride cantankerous the missives that force recall you'd hide & i could taste the salt from your dishwasher eyes imperial & weightless much to all of our surprise the fugitives have won and i will occupy abandoned station tonight i'll call upon some invitation of light cause the fugitives have won if i held you up to fire i would see a reddish frame of rust around your soul's transparency and you, you with your beauty and i with my spleen i'll hitchhike to your bonfire in my suit of gasoline From Letras Mania