The words get twisted and repeated
They bounce and imprint
Over and over
Their meaning was clear
In the sick heat of the fever
Sometimes sounds echo
Will not leave
Until they decide to fade
Is this how it starts
I guess if
It were starting
I wouldn’t know
The key is
Ignoring that
Which is not real to others
Because it’s all real
To you
Gene G. McLaughlin 2012
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