in a plethora of convlusive mind action
sometimes a friend's voice is not one
you would liked to hear, no.
not even a close friend's voice.
cast the phone into the heap of rubbish
on your table as presented to the world
and cup your head in your hands.
yes my dear, cry.
tears start to well up in your eyes
and you suddenly think you're staging this
no my child, the lights will dim
you are precisely who you are.
so in that plethora of convulsive mind action
you cup your head in your hands
and you cry. oh, you cry!
you realise who you really are
and who I really am.
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