Now she's the door to the place under the trail
With a blender with a black disco broken to the choice
When you are there lone voice of the sum you wail
This old man to scream high speaker in my voice
Amid the bohemian garden of thieves, a Napoleonic tantrum far from below
The Corsican mares they all dress down as tribal anthems of redundancy sound
To walk below bridges of the Rhine it's near below contempt for to feel this fine
On derelict complacent brigand decks, the podium where emptiness elects
A vision of a long forgotten shell, atypical this unimagined hell
That reaches out just shy beyond my reach that blinds my eyes and confounds my speech
The scarcity of reason casting shadows on festivals of sobriety it blows
And Solomon never faced judgments as this, deranged, betrayed and addled by a kiss
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