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me and my baby

we drank some magic tea

we're crusing down the rural roads

aesthetics of poverty



i'm going down for the last time

i shifted to my level

can you receive what you give me

somebody should set you free



in the morning

when you wash your hair

i love those simple things that

make me know your there



come every sunday evening

it's leftovers from the weekenders

lost limbs to identify

frustration for the grieving