Frightened chicks, lost and crying.
The same. They're the same.
Ever been accused
Of being a drunk mirage?
No? Better parties.
Little unsteady.
Love, strong wine, and praises makes
A body heady
A bag of holding
Never contains what's needed
For the party's quest.
Mum says arts and crafts
My father always said that
Perfect comes from drafts.
The night lights burning
The light inside eyes dimming,
The night mares waiting.
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