A black butterfly is flying over the yellow wall
Like me, he's looking for something,
He must have stolen my color and turned it black
That he must have known a fragrance like mine.
That must have come to listen to my story.
Listen ...
I can only see you in the picture
Which I always decorate on my own.
Nerve is what it is
Sounds dripping from your lips
On the full moon day
That whisper of trees to the light.
Dreams of trying to pull a red hat off your head,
The bright story on the Yard,
I remembered it was midnight,
Abutting the hand and dancing on own
Shadow teasing awfully
Let me remind you all about this on Yellow Pages
I find you in the thick haze.
Fall on the ground
I pretend that you are rainwater.
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