Dawson

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Dawson dreams. Dawson lies.

His lips are sweet but, his words are zip ties.

Everything draws everyone in,

deep swimming pools; dens of sin.

The water is dark, top frozen over.

there’s no light here, let’s not be sober.

Take off my shirt, trace our life on my back.

I don’t want a future, but if you’re here I’ll plan.

Draw our house, draw our rings,

we’ll have flowers and kids and things.

Rocking chairs rock when you push;

everything rolls when you’re a lush.

But Dawson dreams Dawson lies.

His lips are sweet – his words are zip ties.

Just let me go, 

leave

me

lie.

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