Another round of all four seasons
The winter chill is setting deep
My back is growing weaker
My youth seems out of reach
I'm sick of all this labour
At least it keeps me off the streets
My lungs are full of fever
My hair is in retreat
I'm scared by all these crooks
Carving footprints while I sleep
I spent my time shopping through windows
I spent my money on being cheap
In spite of that I'm living
Sometimes I call it
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