Me and my baby

We drank some magic tea

We're crusing down the rural roads

Aesthetics of poverty



I'm going down for the last time

I shifted to my level

Can you receive what you give me

Somebody should set you free



In the morning

When you wash your hair

I love those simple things that

Make me know your there



Come every sunday evening

It's leftovers from the weekenders

Lost limbs to identify

Frustration for the grieving




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