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Hands Folded

With a band around her finger
she'll find herself, she's sure;
With a band around her finger
lust will fuel her cure.
That feeble vim that's led her
falters
falters
fails
As he neglects to notice
and blazes her more trails
Through days that never feed her
and seas that steal her thirst
She cries into that golden band
wishing she had ventured first
But a storm and then a bruise
drowning in his booze
mean nothing to that crimson fire.




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