Octopus Times

How do you let the woman preach, some asked that night, just out of reach?

She should be silent, she should have known, why must we listen to her moan?

Only she had not requested this, but asked, some did, to hear the Sis

I am not prophet she had said, ambition for me is something dead

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If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.

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If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.

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