The Fool I left my only picture of you back on the moon.

I guess I’m screwed at ever thinking I’ll be getting back there anytime soon. I could ask you for another, but your narcoleptic and you always fall asleep at the exact moment my lips form the question, as if you’re a priest who doesn’t wish to hear my confession. So sorry Mr. Man in Black with that trace of white at the neck that always looks just a little too tight. My truths are real. My passions are true, And my love, ah… well my love turned me into fortune’s fool for you.

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