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1944September, 1944.The cops knocked on your wooden doorAnd told you that your man had diedYour parachute lover had gone and liedTo you, he said he'd come back homeSo you wouldn't have to be alone.And you're getting that terrible though yet again"When will it be over? If not now, when?"For the Allied army, here's the cost:Another soldier's life was lost.
Poem DumpDear, I'll be your nightingale,Sing songs to you for free.Just send away that blue jay,And say that you love me.-Fog on the windowsill.You draw on me with a thumb-pad,Making what you want.I'm fading, fading, fading; nowJust a lover's haunt.-The boy deserves the galaxies,The planets, the sun, and stars.The fates give him black holes.-Let's wear stripes upon big sweaters,And soak our hair in bleach.Nautical is the way to go,Life is such a beach!-If I wanted life to be hard,I'd be a diamond.-Here's the man I like the best,Lets me sleep on his soft chest.-I'd surely find the way to sayThe thoughts still in my mindIf my batteries were runningOn infinity time.I could write beautiful music,Even explore outer space,But I'd rather be at home in my ownMeditative place.-What is it you see in meThat makes you act the way you do?I'm still not sure, but I know this:My dear, I love you too.-She recalls being preciousA perfect painted thing.The queens and king
A RiddleI made the boxes with naught but air,And an odd little plane that's as thin as the air.Delicate stars, I make them too.As fast as I can; for they're long overdue.And I make the birds that cannot fly.And yet, I know they'll yearn for sky.How did I make them?(oh, if only you knew!)I tell you something:Paper's the clue.
NeroI need to go somewhere and be the heroAnd then I'll burn out just like Nero'Cause I won't love or sleep or bleed.My fiddle and I are all I'll need.And if my old dame tries to smotherI'll do as he did to his motherAnd though I'm not from AntiumI'll soon find myself growing numb'Cause I don't love or sleep or bleed.My fiddle and I are all I need.And when I rule, they all will sing'Cause everybody wants a kingWho doesn't love or sleep or bleedAnd their self and a fiddle is all that they need