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suicide poem

over the river they beckon to me
what do i owe to you
a few more windy days
when night drifts along the streets of the city
when i was broke in london
why do you always stand there shivering
let me be sad
i make my shroud, but no one knows
by the rude bridge
white foam flower, red flame flower
i expect you
what shall we do now
and still they walked on

 



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