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Motorama

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Motorama

She Is There

Sick and poor he runs through everglade
Face is covered with grey dirt color of his clothes
Bengal lights illuminate his way
Fiasco for the daytime
Triumph for the night

Who is there with black feathers in white hands?
Her perfume is filling up his head
Weight and depth, only weight and depth
Bottomless depth, bottomless depth

And in the safety of her bed
In the nameless place you know she is there
And in the safety of her bed
In the nameless place you know she is there