Mister Jones,
is he in the room,
under woods,
on the line?
No, he’s killing me, boarding
my soul with cheap fire.
Mister Jones,
is he in the room,
under woods,
on the line?
No, he’s killing me, boarding
my soul with cheap fire.
Day Job, Depression, Megalomaniacs, Poems, Poetry, recovery, Shadorma
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