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Untitled 113
Sometimes, late into the night
I just sit back with my eyes closed
And listen to the art created by one
Of those nameless faces
I can’t tell exactly which room
The sounds originate
But as I’m engulfed in the melodic notes
It doesn’t matter.
I often get the urge to
Sit at the door of the beautiful culprit,
Groupie style,
And have my own private lullaby
Sometimes, late into the night
I just sit back with my eyes closed
And listen to the art created by one
Of those nameless faces
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