The days go by without a whisper,
The sun slowly glimmering wildly,
You poured your skin onto the ground,
Alike the rush of a thousand seas,
You were a convict being chased,
Or the pursuing agents,
Following the trouble seer,
Or running from a sweet gent,
Always two steps ahead,
Or always two steps back,
I was either an invisible man,
Or hiding in a shack,
You fell from the sky,
With an immaculate grace,
Trouble would come and go,
But not before they emptied their case.
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