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She carries me like a little empty purse
In her faded jeans pocket with finger holes
She wouldn’t mind if she leaves me down her feet
Twenty miles or sixty if her name doesn’t stains leak
Cause I may be homesick but I don’t think your my home
The secrets you hold of my sad lusty bones
Can rest in your treacherous moans
I was never the type to be owned
You mistook my care for the slaves of your thrones
I do love the innocence but not the part of the weak hormones
I live chasing the ghost who sucks my soul cold.

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