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Saturday 11 January 2014

My tourist friend

You will come here
When the sky is clear
Drunk of the sun
Looking at the sea
You will tell me
That this is a place
Where you want to be

I will tell you as a friend
Look at that waiter
He smiles at you for bread
But what he really wants
Is to hit you in the head

I love you
And I want to say
This is not a place
Where you want to stay

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