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Maintaining by Nate Creekmore for June 01, 2008
Frieda: Someone put a poem in my locker. Creepy. Marcus: Yeah... what a loser... The faintest dreams behind my eye will often prompt a mournful sigh look close, behold, I seem awry with thoughts of I and she. But what have I to offer you? A broken, love-lorn vagrant who can recognize (that much is true) I wait and wish and see. The moments are enough perchance a laugh, a smile, a wayward glance, a melancholy fleeting trance I do (but don't) for thee...