Come next Saturday to the Yacht Rock Party.
The strong lock, art motif. Your daddy did
dusty springfield under milk wood. Would
you rather? I'd gather rocks like an heiress,
a planet named Paris. I like my countries
neopolitan, I like turtle-green countrysides
in the fawn eyes of December. It was blue
lace on a black vase, I'm giving you winter,
mom. Next Saturday I'm going to Yacht Rock.
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