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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Relationship >> ID #1633418 |
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The Drifter. The Gypsy.
I was watching for archers along the watchtowers, among the philanderers You said you were a telegrapher I looked for Wings, hidden under paramour armor You offered to wire my lookout lead me to the hideout. stop. rescue the sellout. stop I said exile was a forfeit But your hands were holding mine, with no time to frett We met in the desert, we fell in the garden The looks we passed they will not pardon They say you'd plunder that proxy, you'd plunder my moxie but you can't chain the drifter, you can't claim the gypsy
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