Room Of Empty Heads

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Night or day
None can tell
The pot still bellowing thick smoke
Even silence is funny
Laughter rang like a sick doorbell

Many days had dawned and died
Littered bottles, ash can attest
Where is the need to dream?
Everyday day goes by dreamy
Eat, drink, smoke and its a good day

Four foolish fun-fond friends
Their sunset is easy to predict

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