Gatsbys American Dream
a conversation with the devil
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I
get
what
I
want
this
time
baby.
Foul temptress I want it too
This hell, this doom baby
I find I cannot part with this shadow of a thought
Desire in my lips is precious to me
Like air or blood or jewels that shine in the sky baby
Or sweat that runs down your spine like a river
I find I cannot part with this shadow of a thought
Desire in my lips is precious, precious to me