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November in Okayama
November in Okayama
It rains 'zaza', like in London.
Under your purple umbrella
Your hand on my back, my hand on
Your hip-bone feels as if it's touched
A puppy shivering with cold.
So pure a love poured into such
Impure a vessel, I daren't hold
It within me, let alone drink,
So uncensored was its source,
And when a carhorn hoots, I think
It is the demon of remorse. |
