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All the days before

Days melt in to days,

Now they’re just colours on a page,

And I’m sitting staring aimlessly at walls.


Photo albums on our shelves,

Should go and dismantle themselves,

Because I look at them and feel nothing at all.


We go and fight the same old fights,

And hoard our little bills of rights,

Like Eisenhower, Churchill and their men.


And though I mean it when we kiss,

Now these other things exist,

And it’s as pure as the water in the Thames.


You get drunker every Friday,

And we end up walking sideways,

Two cliches stumbling gamely down the street.


We can cut each other down,

Without making any sound,

But neither of us will accept defeat.


We spend Christmas time together,

Though we fight straight through December,

Buy victories with carefully gift-wrapped things.


The days melt in to days,

As we go our separate ways,

And we hold ourselves together with a string.

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