I was lying on the grass on
Sunday morning of last week
Indulging in my self defeat
My mind was thugged, all laced and bugged,
All twisted round and beat
uncomfortable three feet deep
Now the fuzzy stare from not being
There on a confusing morning week
Impaired my tribal lunar-speak
And of course you can't become if
You only say what you would have done
So I missed a million miles of fun.
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