In this caffinated dream it seems my ends
End up pointing in the same direction.
I'm twisted up on top of myself.
I'm carefully configuring a life too soon.
It's much too early in the morning to feel so alone.
And ironic, that late tonight I'll yearn to be so.
And a winding ride, will ease my mind.
With solem stride, I'll get myself right.
But where is my light? I have only the moon.
What happened to Sunday afternoon?
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