Tell me that two hours later I don't have to face the bitter music
Tasting like over zealous dreams gone bad
Tell me I am not sitting here back arched and sore with longing
Blinking back the letters
So they don't invade my mind
Please tell me this is not the solace that's supposed to make me sane
That the hands are far from finished

Please tell me that I don't have to stay here

09/17/2002

Posted on 09/17/2002
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