Days of weekend paste

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We’re not hungry, not that much

Sleep for breakfast, sex for lunch

Then we roll one on the couch

Rainy days tipcal Dutch

I feel your tender touch,

Grabbing gently on my crotch

Then you feel a rising heat

As I wrap between your feet

Those stains are not mayonaise

We get messy when we blaze

Broken glasses on the floor

We’re not gentle anymore

Going deeper as we rise

We’re stargazing in our eyes

Culminating in the sky

This is how we learned to fly

We are so fucking high …

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