Tacklebox (Walters)
Shimmy-shackled to the wall and twisted like a verb
counting all those knockout socks and stocks you've overheard
depreciate the real estate for seven years in a row
drunk on sleep she mustn't sleep too far from my bestow
Nothing's worse than wrenching lips to feed my silent treat
came for more than hallowed for, I fear I must retreat
starry pies look up to skies and try to find divide
it's clear, I fear, I'm much to near to hitch a short-lived ride
Copyright 1997 Matt Walters
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