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roses are red roses are red like the blood of an abused child, the million traffic lights which delay me in times of crisis, and the empty Hallmark greetings. roses are red as the lips of the professional women, the neon beer signs in the local graveyard where men bury themselves, and the eyes washed with salt tears. roses are red, and leave nothing for the violets but the blues. |
Additional Notes:
Just a new spin on the same old song and dance.
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