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Points Unknown

Time's winged chariot running late
Pulling up outside my door
The angel crooks her finger, says I know the score
But she's got time for a Cuervo neat
Maybe shoot some pool and the breeze
Her smile loosens to a grin
Her wings unfold, and body gleams
That voice approaching opera trills:
 
"I cannot be swinging low again
No unscheduled stops for wasted men
But gaze upon this form divine
I will submit to you at the end of the line"
 
I instruct this vision to make some space
When her chariot swings lower still
I fear to take the ride alone
When it stops at points unknown.
Written by crowfly
Published
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