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1 min
167
They sat for another lunch,
The feet under hell was devoured quickly again.
A Sunday of ecstasy they say,
Yet they took her childhood away.
Yet, they left sharing the pain,
Yet they left calling her name again.
The table was a ground of unprivileged battle, another one leaving at the stroke of the clock.
The glasses of depth and linen of embraces were all pretentious again.
