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The Obsessives

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The Obsessives

Sprawling

Sprawling out across the lawn, the cops are here with sirens on.
All the fixings of the elegant party lay lost amongst the house that resembles now nothing more than proof that I can do.

The bus rounds the corner fast, I hope not too fast.
I wanna see you come July.
It's all I've got to keep me trudging.

The rusted metal couple will collapse under the weight of a thousand British winter rains.
(Trees waver in the distance by some divorced degree of the powers of the moon.)