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“I have become intoxicated again. You are such a potent wine, my friend. To escape your withdrawal effects, tomorrow I will drink in excess. Alas, why make me love? I was aware, conscious, and sensible before. I am ill by cause of this illusion. The devil plays tricks on me more and more. I was a harp you immaculately plucked at will. Your score, the nightingale song within notes composed to imprison and bear me wings. Oh, if only they could hear how it sings! I am now beyond parched. My strings left untouched. You are no longer an oasis, my friend, but a mirage soon coming to an end.” — Kamand Kojouri
I have become intoxicated again.
You are such a potent wine, my friend.
To escape your withdrawal effects,
tomorrow I will drink in excess.
Alas, why make me love?
I was aware, conscious, and sensible before.
I am ill by cause of this illusion.
The devil plays tricks on me more and more.
I was a harp you immaculately plucked at will.
Your score, the nightingale song within
notes composed to imprison and bear me wings.
Oh, if only they could hear how it sings!
I am now beyond parched.
My strings left untouched.
You are no longer an oasis, my friend,
but a mirage soon coming to an end.