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No I Can't

Even as young as nineteen years old
You'll probably want to have a full beard
A year or more later
When you're in your twenties
You'll be most likely killed at night
Or slip and drown through ice
Until then good predictions are that
People will look at you from behind
And think of cornstalks strongly
Yellow and green and slightly rustling
It's hard to tell
But they may even fall in love
For a minute or two
With the awful way
You do things

What's important of course is that
You're somehow here right now
And are almost as timeless
As fishes' lips

Of the many many many people out there
You've got the hardest mix of promise
Like a peach twig down in weeds
And you don't listen very much either
But the honest truth is
You don't really need to
In fact the two mixed words that
Come to mind about you
Are only
And such.