what they tell us in the night
What they want in the day
What they hint at on the phone
I try not to be ashamed
I always want to say more
But it's just soft sand
Wanna be rock you adore
Wanna be grand
What they tell me underneath
Subtle hints I cannot read
They tell me they're a feast
And that I'll soon feed
Tell me through telepathy
I gather each piece carefully
Digest, misunderstand predictably
What they say is lovely
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