Her nights are blue, but not just any blue;
it is the darkest of all hues.
By her bedside she keeps her booze,
drowning her sorrows, awaking the muse.
Don’t judge so soon ’cause you would, too,
if you walked a mile in her shoes.
Her nights are blue, but not just any blue;
it is the darkest of all hues.
By her bedside she keeps her booze,
drowning her sorrows, awaking the muse.
Don’t judge so soon ’cause you would, too,
if you walked a mile in her shoes.
Very nice.
Thank you!
Profound.