i wrote a book
and on the seventh line i made
a note about how
on that night we talked
about how lovers steal
and how all we could take
was a little less than real
Do the lines on my face
Show thoughts of her
have i cross the line
too many times
have i become stale
and too hard to take
my teeth
my tounge
when the final bell in rung
will i speak
or eat
the words in my lung
well i worte a book
and on the seventh line i made
a rule about you
Have you given up
Or have i become lost
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