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Counting the clock,
Looking at the dying hour.
Waiting for sweet night’s kiss.
To close my weary eyelids.
Counting the clock,
Looking at the dying hour.
Waiting for sweet night’s kiss.
To close my weary eyelids.
There is always somebody better than you at everything that you do. But in no way does that imply that you are bad at everything that you do.
You look prettier than the moon in a star studded sky,
Under which in liquor addled haze I would love to lie
And feel the cold night wind against my face,
While I feel my heart, like a wild horse, race.