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Me and my baby
We drank some magic tea
We're crusing down the rural roads
Aesthetics of poverty

I'm going down for the last time
I shifted to my level
Can you receive what you give me
Somebody should set you free

In the morning
When you wash your hair
I love those simple things that
Make me know your there

Come every sunday evening
It's leftovers from the weekenders
Lost limbs to identify
Frustration for the grieving