It is the smell of late December
Sweet ginger, scarves, and sweaters
Drawing a circle in my right hand
Trying hard understand
It is the Siren song that fills the skies
Which God himself placed in your eyes
Bringing seasoned sailors to their end
Taking his ships and all of his men
It is 5a.m. with no direction
It is failure in recollection
It is losing all perception
It is the art of self-deception.
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