marching in place but making time, wrap you in thoughts laced with iron and wine.
page upon page penned secret at night, lovers untouched and hidden from sight.
shit isn't bad, but burning it's worth, while your anxious laugh is turning the earth.
and here we go marching, making time but not ground,
making memories from words under the nose of the hound.
the names and the faces merge into one, the others like you,
left me standing
but still spun.
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