SMALL shots of happy,
in this poetic bottle, the
rain tast like candy, and
the wind claps its two
bipoler hands, still these
cave paintings have some
thing odd to say,
like, i was here, you were
here, and this storm is nothing
more then piss- and red and
white wine, , , , ,
small shots of happy, from
this bipoler ghetto storm, ,
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