Late at night a single lark appeared To sing of all so strange and weird As if overcome by midnight roses Inside her mind each book closed To clearly expose another bird Then there came a third And they sang to her Desperada Rang in her ears With waves of cursive Waking something that was waiting It cried out in pain For the darling child Inside a cave A wall collapsing As if a memory released It's loud warning Of a bed of roses Each one softly wailing In the bitter sleep of a thousand dreams Oh desperada! What are you making with clay Passing your time each day Looking for love in all the wrong places And held in a paint brush Desperada She was too much.

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