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An angelic voice I knew before,
spilling forth once again
from the cup of sweet sorrows.
Our tomorrows ever after
will go on spent apart.
I stole answers from her waking mind as
a thief in the night, just before sunrise.
No questions in my sleepy heart.
Punch drunk blood spills
like color blind love.
A birds eye view
on a moon bright sky.
We aim to ride the starry skies
and leave the turning of the tides,
my blushing bride, and I.
We will stand behind what is good and right.
The point is moot,
it is a moot point.
Roll joints make loot.
It is a loot joint.