Waiting to will a Sunday to Al
As he dresses for ill, trying to pull my veil
In the evening, the Sun is fine; the day still a long view to be
To the rejoice of Monday, the Moon has been around, being a fish, a fool, a fiend.
Whether I pull a trick, or a trigger, to offset the news
It rains as it trills, and reads past the onset, working of the irks set.
A token till a passing burl can recover the last lease
I stand still in my airs’ plunge as it pushes for a purge
I’ve been reading a little too often.
Into the sullen crude caught, who shackled because he got outwitted
But all I pursue is my evening dial to push the number through
Returning to the ledger, to privy the lady by the door; Maybe she’d thrilled.
He estranges a pale pivot in my heart
Vile, he is wretched, and wrecks awhile path
In my evening aerials flying through the T.V, he indulges
I still have to convince myself of the dull aches dallying to be free
Outworked, outdone and an hour pale of the blue Sun
Written across the eased up shore
Watering a willow, vapors off the aloe vera
A vapid river runs through off the writs I try to undo
In mean, the time reels off to borrow a hushed whistle
I plough my grey hustle to outlive the busted bristle
Once it shaves off the showers, it shoves a shrewd shiver
Outpacing ace in the deck, the joker stands along the jack, unflushed, unflustered.
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