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The hammer beneath your pillow
There to smash the head of your prince
When it turns back into a pumpkin
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The hammer beneath your pillow
There to smash the head of your prince
When it turns back into a pumpkin
The day my book of poems set to print, the entire world bought a red pack of Marlboros or put on their favorite black lipstick. Some might have kissed their wives. Then climbed into a hole without the dog, a couple machines, a few... Continue →