My desire’s run through
I have no one else to tell
My colour’s turned blue
The unsteadiness of breeze
Rocks me as the aspen leaf
Thoughts of a ne’er-do-well
My riptide spurns its grief
I have the telegraph time
My rhyme’s still to choose
I haven’t a defining spell
My delectations are loose
The dull-grey cloudy sky
Folds away as the thief
Tomorrow I’ll maybe dwell
My hope is thus so brief
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