The Smiths (11/22/93)Striding slowly,
with songs of the criminally obsessed in my head,
I leave for nowhere
with direction in my stride.
Only my own voice rises abover the cacophony of the cries of the world around me -
who else would I want to listen to?
Only those gifted mourners
whose British voices
speak to my sense of self
that I rarely knew before
I realized the depths
to which self-pity
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