Oh my sweet
sarcasm,
found me
one very fine day.
For told
a story
by a Cline;
Pasty, be her name.
She sang
something sweet
with moan.
No.
It was a howl,
that she'd go'on
a'walkin'
in the midnight 'our.
And I'd be
a'singin'
to the heavens,
comfirmin' my plan;
that never
I'd go a'walkin'
with only the memory
of your hand.
But
sweet dreams
hold true
and every night
I'ma out
a'walkin',
searching
for you.
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