The energy, the source, and the medium are all distorted.

You give me the thrill of a leftover frill

Oh brown sugar, how would someone taste so good as you.

Gotta tell her I’m into dark tinted pots of glass; In which grows a flower so scentful till it lasts.

But take care cos I’ve seen those shatter so soon.

Take me to a place where I was; Anything where there’s you.

Take my hand wrapped upon with your fingers of faith.

For I’m all up to be down for you.

Should it be like a rose without all the thorns but petals; I ask you.

I try not to compare, but you came and dissapeared like that wind past my neck; Whirling upon what you see next.


The You

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