Begging to make her stay just a little longer.
"I can't keep him waiting, my lover."
I hear her say, and here I smoke another.
I hang my head as she's off to her lover,
There, it smells, my pillow of feather,
Just like all the women I can't remember
I miss the solitude of sweet November.
Love not the corrupt warmth of women,
Tastes bitter sweet, yet agony is hidden.
When they talk, may thine ears deafen,
For words shalt not fix thy walls rotten.
Hear my words, this has never been disproven,
A woman's love is always shorter than bidden.
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