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A temperamental widower

by Norma Jean

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We´re not going backwards
We´re not going backwards

We´re just killing onward to die.
Put that knife away.
My first thought, a dragon.
My first thought, a dragon

Two contending marches.

Put that knife away.
She´ll sting you to death like a swarm of hornets from the hive.
Endlessly I drift into this distraction.
Sign my name to shame
Press hard, there are three copies.

You´ll put me in the grave.
You´ll put me in the grave.

We´re not going backwards
We´re not going backwards

We´re just killing onward to die.
Put that knife away.
Put that knife away.

Making progress like that of a dead man.
Constant last words.
The last word.
The last words.
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