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Feelin Pretty Psyched

It seems that hindsight is twenty thirty
That is, if blushing onyx cheeks are to be believed.
You would probably rob even
the dead of their dignity.
And to you, darling
The politics of panic are rusting your heart
All is quiet
In the absence of leather wrapped feet
daisies push through sidewalk cracks.
If the world ends tonight
and our memory get sprinkled in the stars
I’ll blow bubblegum with the ravens,
wishing that people were were less like pigeons
and more like lions.

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