It’s a sea of all-consuming indulgence,
A vast, pleasure pool,
And like a little cork piece
you bob on its turbulent waves,
You get heaved, bashed, thrown in air,
You gasp for breath with excitement,
But storms can’t last forever,
They have to stop and die,
Then you float lifelessly,
You pine for that high, that kick,
You feel life has drained out,
To be kicked by the storms of love
is what you view as being alive.
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