I opened the fire door to four lips
None of which were mine
Kissing
Tightened my belt around my hips
Where your hands were missing
And stepped out into the cold
Collar high
Under the slate grey sky
The air was smoking and the streets were dry
And I wasn't joking when I said
Good Bye
Magazine quality men talking on the corner
French, no less much less of them then us
So why do I feel like something's been rearranged?
which
lying
wired
joking
hands
puddle
future
context
opened
disconnected
kissing
because
heart
corner
around
french
confrontation
conclusion
magazine
jumping
interested
tightened
could
study
missing
collar
quality
where
rearranged
talking
killed
should
singing
slate
smoking
someone
brain
stepped
streets
statistic
strange
taken
substituting
tired
under
ducts
cockroach
walking
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