The Hollowed Out Chest Of A Dead Horse
I've seen you sitting in your bed, in your brown gown of
dead flowers. And inside your room, in its corners where
spiders crawl, and a sour dream centipede slips under
your mattress until its time. Oh, oh, gimme that back. I
want my back, back. Oh, your beauty. Let it not, let it
not. Let it fucking not. Lie down now if you please,
darling, so I can do our world a service. Dream, dream,
and dream.
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