If I Do It, You Can'T Tell
J
James McLain
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Words roll in never ending waves
from shores of oceans long lost
from minds of all.
Tongues like yours carry a sentence
of death for we whom
crawl at your feet.
Queen of pain that renders sight
outrageously sane sipping wine.
Firm is firm in the voice I hear call
your name fleet is your foot standing
upon my back wresting your joys in
hand firm such grip gently applied
in times of need lost in washed agony.
Bu şiiri puanla
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