I was raring to go for an embrace
I asked for news; nothing was new
The streets were still haggard
Was still the same antique taste
Like the penchant of the grit
When the rain get to rain on it
I talked to myself profoundly
About luminous hopes and fonds
That gets our conurbation lit
Like nunnery in deified festivity
One thing in common with myself
We are enthralled by the trance
Of the edifying psychic dance
It’s similar to a spiritual ritual
That got us unified to this date
Until I say goodbye to myself
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