Heels so high
we make skyscrapers blush,
drinks drunk dry
we want more for the rush,
lazy Sunday lunches,
Friday nights - martini punches
get under our spell
with only - Jesze Belle ♥
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
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