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Hello old friend, what a strange coincidence to find you. It's been fifteen years since we last met, but I still recognised you. So call the barman over here, and let us fill our glasses.
Oh I come from Pittsburgh to study astrology. She said as she stepped on my instep. I could show you New York with a walk between Fourth Street and Nine.
Shots split the night, a bullet lodged in his brain. He must have died instantly, he felt no pain. A crowd quickly gathered to the feast of the gun. Waiting for the ambulance and cops to come.
Constancy dwells in. Realms of perfection. I hear the call. Life is free and love is all. Cleave to me. Harmony holds forth. Pleasures abounding. And love is free.
Sometimes it seems unimaginable. That you were ever any other way. With your white rose face and your orphan clothes. Embroidered jeans and silver chains.
The subway station's closed again. Sleeps beneath its veil of rain. My footprints' broken trail behind. Steals the nightlights from my mind. . The dark deserted streets then clear.
When we came to the station all the trains were rusty. The doors were open and the windows broken in. There was grass in all the cracks and the air hung musty.
Anna, turns out the light. Sits down alone. The echo of his foot on the stair. Turning to stone. No, he didn't take very much. Just your flesh from the bone.
Said the apple to the orange:. "Oh I wanted you to come. Close to me and kiss me to the core. Then you might know me like no other orange. Has ever done before".
All right you saw me in the "International Times". You've got my picture in your book. You tell your friends not to call at weekend,. And now you wear that far-off look.
First time I saw you, you were Mr. Natural. You seemed so diffident, you hardly spoke at all. Now you come to me and you've got green streaks in your hair.
I sat upon the Evening Hill. The shadows set, the night grew still. And as I sat, guitar on knee. A voice of flowers called to me. . Sing, sing to me your song.
Mr Carmichael says that he loves his wife. I believe he does. Gives her everything that a man can give. But Mr Carmichael beggars himself on the altar.
On a Christmas cake day one Friday in August. In a bookshop in Charing Cross Road. I first set eyes on a girl and at once I did know. She had eyes like a poet and hair like a rainbow.
I was drawn by the sirens of Titan. Carried along by their call. Seeking for a way to enlighten. Searching for the sense of it all. . Like a kiss on the wind I was thrown to the stars.
The Gothenburg streets were like silver sheets. As I kicked my feet through the snowy world. And in that land there I held the hand of my. Scandinavian girl.
They crossed over the border the hour before dawn. Moving in lines through the day. Most of our planes were destroyed on the ground where they lay. Waiting for orders we held in the wood - word from the front never came.
Born in England's pleasant green. Like a picture postcard scene. To childhood spread with fond maternal care. From the day that he was born. Proud relations came to fawn.
It's the kind of grey November day that washes away reflections. In the eyes of hotel porters. And the latticed wooden benches by the sea contain no travellers.