Stolen Poetry

We’ll run where lights can’t chase us
We’ll go where we need to go
Always making a big fuss

There are some millionaires
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
Their wives run round like banshees
To cure their hearts of stone

It was many and many a year ago,
All night a veil,
And stars, in their orbits,
I gazed awhile

I cannot pretend
No objection was made
In point of composition
Consequence of an agreement

I don’t want to play
I’m done with this game
What’s the best way to
get down from a goose?

A gyroplane flying back
It is unknown why
According to the reports
It took a long time to die


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