I have a dead mother who,
In some ways,is more present,
Than my present Father,
That could make you think,
That my Mother is present,
Quite a lot,
She isn't
Presence,
And absence,
Like my Mum and Dad,
Are both,
Relative
The ice bergs rattle And the glasses chink, And the party's swinging And I'm on the brink, All along, in the old cold throng, Bangin...
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