Grenada

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City spread below us from the hill.
The weather white gypsy town looks to be natural still. Someone made it real one day. Someone built a downtown mall but didn't sign their name. Few alleyways to hide us in, can't hold us watch ourselves.
Cars become our castles sidewalks open into moats.
No one walks and talks a lot anymore.
So we gather round fatefully where we can hear, nothing felt, nothing found.
I have to tell myself I'm having fun way too many times through the night.
I have to tell myself I'm having fun way too many times through the night.
Beauty worn with age is timeless still.
Can't fill my heart cuz I can't get my fill.
And the crimes that I commit against myself.
Patience wanes and I embrace the patience that is fear. Bitter pill.
Sit alone at home and wait for you.
Seems like what a lonely man should do.
As if lovelorn, taken from a film.
Pencil in an actress with a paragraph.
How I may find peace and meaning still in a little retreat just beyond these hills.
I have to tell myself I'm having fun way too many times through the night.
I have to tell myself I'm having fun way too many times through the night.
I have to tell myself I'm having fun way too many times through the night.


Autor(es): Jeff London

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