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November in Okayama
November in Okayama.
It rains 'zaza' like in London.
Under your purple umbrella
your palm on my back, my hand on
your hip-bone that shivers
like a puppy in the cold.
Your pure love has been poured
so freely, I daren't hold
it within me, let alone drink,
so uncensored was its source.
And when a carhorn hoots, I think
it's the red demon of remorse. |
