Oh, to be bruised up.



Oh, to be bruised up. colors stories
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sy
sy There we go
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
My knees are the colours of plums and queen olives. Not a serious poem, dinnae fash yersel's

Oh, to be bruised up.

Bruised up in places, With colours and changes, What eventually fades is, What I don't know.

It's gone with the wind, Yes it is torn up and pinned, Fast, where it's been, But have I sinned, oh... ... No I don't know.

But tell me; - What should I do, - How far to run, - Is it pleasure and fun, or - Or is it pain?

To carry on this way, Live it day after day, Oh, what a hell to pay, Yes, Oh... to be bruised up.

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