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Pleasing your lips and shoulders on the carpet
Post-December hors d'oeuvres in cold apartments
Once we comb our feathers and cure our longing
We sleep as winter pigeons on pavement falling
Written in the clothes and timbers as I departed
Holding your hands and fingers as if imploding
Hunting the moon; hung so low, we might have caught it
Pleasing your lucky clovers on the carpet
Post-December hors d'oeuvres in cold apartments
Once we comb our feathers and cure our longing
We sleep as winter pigeons on pavement falling
Written in the clothes and timbers as I departed
Holding your hands and fingers as if imploding
Hunting the moon; hung so low, we might have caught it
Pleasing your lucky clovers on the carpet
Lyrics submitted by isbjorn
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