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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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