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Revolver

The lonely dance, the dreams
A wonderful place to meet
The vignette-lit sidestreets
of this dusty city, rattling tram
Barefoot, stilettos in hand
Broken bottle glass, wine glass,
I forget now
Not enough fingers to count
Searching for the red door
Although still red, not sure anymore
We climbed those stairs
Many a time long-before
The hard slug, the side-sway
And then the complex delight
We hankered down, grimy
and emerged in the Sunlight.

Jesse Brjoz.