Paint drips over the end of the roundabout
fresh, like a surviving ice-cream
the flowers have been tainted too,
a little red on their summer-white petals
this doesn't save you, the face-value of paint
in the morning hours, there were thoughts
about a special occasion, made for the purpose of visitation
but the paint keeps dropping without guard
they said a king was visiting,
let's paint over this city;
repaint our tears
repaint the tank tracks
repaint the lovers night walks
repaint the tainted ugly faces
repaint the lack of air
repaint, let the red paint drip over the flowers.
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