9.30 in the morning,
Thick knowledge in hand, and pouty lips.
The woman in red Mary-Jane, she hates her fate more than
The matching suit that she wore that painful morning.
The green fabric, and the tasteless yellow stripes seem disoriented in her hazy figure.
She asked the starless skies to suffocate her in her sleep the night before,
But we all love her little tiring walk to the cream building in city central,
For we see a glimmer of hope in her sunburnt skin, and a little bit of ourselves inside her demanding soul.
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