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A poet sacrificed his meaning for a rhyme; he sold his poems for less than a dime
And all he ever wanted to write or say, got forgotten each and every day
Then one day in the grace of may, he attempted to commmit a ruthless crime
He robbed a store-keeper past his prime and the fucked up poet never got away
And his life never ended up so sublime, locked up, spending his time

H

J

Doftljuset berikar mitt rum
Det öppna fönstret vädrar nattens slum
Hyllan står ödsligt tom eftersom;
Jag där ska ställa minnen så småningom

Men först en söndagsgod tur på stan
Snubblandes in på brudarnas altan
Så kommer Johan med camaron sin
Vars motor vrålar in under brudarnas skinn

H

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