Troubled, bent double, creased up without laughter
Bubble, creosote and stubble, the strong sense of ones lost temper
If I sit a thousand hours will it mean anymore
If I touched your crumpled skin or smelt old piss
Why would I
Better to turn away, steer clear
Make for certain not to be affected
Fall back into my shallow ways
Turn down the lights
Turn away from the musing
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