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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-05-08 | [Aestu textŭ lipseashti s-hibâ dghivâsitŭ tu romana] | Ânyrâpsitŭ tu bibliotecâ di x The story of man Makes me sick Inside, outside, I don't know why Something so conditional And all talk Should hurt me so. I am hurt I am scared I want to live I want to die I don't know Where to turn In the Void And when To cut Out For no Church told me No Guru holds me No advice Just stone Of New York And on the cafeteria We hear The saxophone O dead Ruby Died of Shot In Thirty Two, Sounding like old times And de bombed Empty decapitated Murder by the clock. And I see Shadows Dancing into Doom In love, holding TIght the lovely asses Of the little girls In love with sex Showing themselves In white undergarments At elevated windows Hoping for the Worst. I can't take it Anymore If I can't hold My little behind To me in my room Then it's goodbye Sangsara For me Besides Girls aren't as good As they look And Samadhi Is better Than you think When it starts in Hitting your head In with Buzz Of glittergold Heaven's Angels Wailing Saying We've been waiting for you Since Morning, Jack Why were you so long Dallying in the sooty room? This transcendental Brilliance Is the better part (of Nothingness I sing) Okay. Quit. Mad. Stop.
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