You've been dipping your wick in some other slick,
so I'll just have to give you the flick.
And I crane my neck to see that old moon,
but I just get a crick.
Don't hit me with your rhythm stick,
because I'm not listening anymore.
So you can just wash up on that damn shore,
because our love, it had no core.
No piece, no heart, no rest.
Glad I've got all this off my chest.
© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)
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| Shore © Jennifer Phillips |
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