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black boots wearing high heels a colossal stack of fashion dominates the front row fades in and out of the wild pack of urbane hosers lobes holding stretch marks like cell-walls hold hope but beauty spots take too many pictures and god damnit ned anderson is here do you know what that means the daily eucharist of toques distracts the reader swaying in basement winds just wanna feel alright just wanna feel alright alright alright filtering through the washrooms are dark but continue to thrive losing tissue like a bad tempered prom queen at a homecoming dance but who's judging the beat outside a tribute band to bikes on slick turf and pomified sugars condensing on phalange i told you i don't feel good don't talk to me about the river or banjo chords take off that denim shirt and just speak to me proper banksy throwing an armful of flowers doesn't contribute to my piece of mind