The highway is full of big fast cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything that’ll burn
Some people wrap their lives around a cocktail glass
And you sit wondering
where you’re going to turn.
I got it.
Come. And be my baby.

Some prophets say the world is gonna end tomorrow
But others say we’ve got a week or two
The paper is full of evey kind of blooming horror
And you sit wondering
what you’re gonna do.
I got it.
Come. And be my baby.

Maya Angelou

(a poem i found in a journal entry i wrote many years ago,

 apparently i was quite the romantic)

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