Old face

Old faces looking at her
Cloaked in blue haze on a bus
They catch it every day
It’s such a note of brown
Brings her down

Inside the ears of song
Bells of division ring long
Heart beats in tune
Thoughts up and down the bar
Drinks, sips, fire and far

Seeking home, but not for bed
Journey is long and thread

In justice we see a balance
A spectrum of fallice

Death is the giver of of this gift
But some will go out with flying fists

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