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Strings

Strings

When the butterfly leaves turn brownStrings
Down
by the creek turning itself into a snake
And Marylou was getting warm
as she looked for the love of her life
I layed down in the cold sand
but sleep was just a dream
I listened for cars
I hadn’t heard of a train through these rotting parts
in a while
I chugged a little kings
and I swore
I could see through her threads
Like every life, mine was a theory of a better mind.

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