Ghost by Cassino
How do you make a living, crawling crumbling stairs?
You have some beautiful legs, but the stairs... they just don't care.
And how you miss your mother, and the way she's almost there...
I know about the shame from the cyclones that she bares.
In this bed of weeds... grow tall and die with seeds.
Lonely miss aero plane is dropping parts all over the place...
But I still feel you in my clothes, in the cotton... it's that close...
And of all the floors to stand on, don't stand on this one here...
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