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Kind Of Blue
The blue jazz brings a tear to my eye
And my soul to the scene of a crime
“Death on a dirty street”
Where beggars come to live and die
Their highs and lows stain the concrete
Smells like spent life
Spent life you smell on yourself sometimes
The days are slowly backing away into memories
And the memories into a void
With each thud and bang
I get a receipt of feeling
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