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WINEHOUSE
All this red-tape disgusts me
And every new appearance of it
Penetrates my heart with a gloom I cannot bear
Till I crawl into a snowy winehouse and swallow myself.
I regret
That I ever became a father.
All this added unnecessary ritual
Which I who have done no wrong must observe
Fills the prospect of living on with singular gloom.
There was a time
When this street was like a gorgeous field of flowers to me,
But there came a day
When writing personal histories filled me with aversion
And I have since forgotten the language of this street.
Even the red-tape involved in loving one woman
Has become tedious to me,
And when gloom stagnates like overcast days
I crawl into a snowy winehouse and swallow myself.
It's not living itself that is tedious
But my own red-tape bound existence.
And when all this vast gloom stagnates like overcast days
I won't budge to write a single syllable
But crawl into a snowy winehouse
And swallow myself.
To have become a father
Ultimately is as inevitable as the rest of my life.
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