All night restaurant, North Kildonan. Luke warm coffee tastes like soap. I
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trace your outline in spilled sugar, killing time and killing hope. This brand
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new strip mall chews on farmland as we fish for someone to blame. But we
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communicate in questions, and all our answers sound the same. Under sputtering
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flourescents, after re-fills are re-filled. Negotiations at a stand-still,
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spoon and rolling saucer stilled. If you ask how I got so bitter, I'll ask how
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you got so vain. And all our questions blur together. The answers always sound
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the same. We can't look at one another. I'll say something thoughtful soon, but
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I can't listen to the quiet so I hum this mindless tune I stole from some dumb
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country-rock star. I don't even know his name. It's like my stupid little
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questions: the answers always sound the same.Tell me why I have to miss you so.
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Tell me why we sound so lame. Why we communicate in questions and all our
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answers sound the same.
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None of the above
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The Weakerthans |