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Rated: E · Poetry · Tragedy · #1569826
Avenue 51, where my old house lied once.
Often the boys so hardy,
try to forget the adulthood a while
Thus they go naughty,
and with games they take a trial
But I don't remember my bliss,
when it was twenty one or less
And for the little home I lay,
in Avenue fifty one, that I miss

Oh! c'mon by me O fellow,
let me sigh and think a while
About the old house so narrow,
that now lies many ways a mile
Pray that it exists now and then,
among all the oldy folks and men
But my prayers sound in vain now,
for the deserted Avenue fifty one

Mind me not, and bear with me,
the falling tears upon the cheek
How dear should a memory be,
if it doesn't make the heart a bleak?
Thus, ring a bell O my mate,
and for memories open a gate
Then let's sing a song of tears,
and for Avenue fifty one, I shall await
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