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You Always Hurt The Ones You Love
He sits on the cob webbed couch
And rests his head on her white blouse
Cotton eyes and blacktop skies, after all
For the bottom of the bottle is his only fault
And he reaches out to touch her
For she only loves him because they’re lovers
But what’s a lover have to do
With the stench of borrowed time
And cotton eyes
And blacktop skies
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