Shall I smother
You
While soaring through fields?
You were a card-carrying communist
You had a one-track mind
You had no other ideas
And refused to listen to any other
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That glimmer we make
in the blind slope
scraped from disaster’s
layered muck,
Whenever I want to add beauty
to memories of growing up
Bath so hot I can’t get in
That album-game over to pretending to want to go out