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Thursday, February 10, 2005


From request and here u go
My borrowed hearts as empty as my purse,
Her voice is like a path of broken glass,
She’s my bane an unforgettable curse,
I’d find more beauty in a face of brass,
She implants in my soul her venom love,
Her tongue as a whip she lashes me so,
“Broken freedom" angels sing from above,
But her vain vines wrap’d me and won’t let go,
I’d find more passion in a raging bull,
A ridden soul that’s black with frosty ice,
Her figure is that of a large ships hull,
But the look ‘pon her face shall not serfice,
And though the angels cry forgotten tears,
For no price would I sell these treasured years.

By Marc Gillings

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