The Passing Psychic

I’m dying to find love, but there’s so few places left

A psychic in the street said “Right before your death.”

Then, I shall find love

Something in the way she spoke said more than enough

She shrugged and told me what she saw

Didn’t ask for a cent or demand pay at all

Told me it was “sad”

The way the lines of my hands spoke to her of death


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