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Literature Text
The fourteenth of Feb, the day of the blues,
Every year it's the day of bad news,
Still all alone with nothing to lose,
Is it no wonder I turn to the booze?
A valentine curse that afflicts the soul,
Were once beat a heart there is only a hole,
An acting impression, alone is the role,
This is the day when life take's it's toll.
Confused and bemused, don't know who we are,
I can not decide if it's close or it's far,
An illusion of love but one day under par,
A ship on the ocean that has no anchor.
Who made the day that bring's out this fear?
A day that some hate and some hold so dear,
A reason to smile or to live with the tear's,
Or just an excuse to laugh and to jeer.
Every year it's the day of bad news,
Still all alone with nothing to lose,
Is it no wonder I turn to the booze?
A valentine curse that afflicts the soul,
Were once beat a heart there is only a hole,
An acting impression, alone is the role,
This is the day when life take's it's toll.
Confused and bemused, don't know who we are,
I can not decide if it's close or it's far,
An illusion of love but one day under par,
A ship on the ocean that has no anchor.
Who made the day that bring's out this fear?
A day that some hate and some hold so dear,
A reason to smile or to live with the tear's,
Or just an excuse to laugh and to jeer.
By Allan Baines
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