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The Whistle
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Blackout Beach
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I heard the day of our night shall start with the setting of the sun And the hardship of labour shall for three blessed hours be undone I walk into the gossip Fulfil my needs Eat to satiate that which has flown Rub my dirty fingers upon the denim that shall one day be cashmere, and find the cash for the phone Call Donna to say I'm tired Call her every night Beaches sound the same over the phone Just a lot of laughter and sunlight and William (her boyfriend) feeling her up So tacky So she groans So I laugh; an old friend, but f*cking William! I want to crack his neck and perform one million castrations with his bones No I won't no I won't no I won't I shall descend into my bunk And wonder And wonder at the cold And wonder that anything has ever happened before this date to make me feel uncold I remember my youth: seeing some great 'scape, some sinless plot of Dawn's nape Some stretch of white dawn lit tip or cape Or horn or frosty bit of land's last head of state Seeing myself bundled Some blind youth thinking that all land could just be surveyed And not, you know, dug up: Sure Donna you can borrow 200 bucks Reagan sucks The weather sucks The blasted cold curls my hand The quarters are hell to hold The quarters are hell to hold I want to talk to you now I want to tell you that William is the whore William is the whore! The simpering beast in a cage The bastard drunk in the rage The blasted heath on the page The f*cking whimper from some sage pretty boy from outside of the city, but close enough to know, man, that city girls are the only way to lose yourself in darkness, man! William, you're going to be losing yourself in darkness before the fourth wind arrives William, you're going to be losing yourself in darkness before the fourth wind arrives
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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.
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