| these days been house ridden
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| couch sitting in a cold mind
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| the long silence of the dim type
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| an old man breathing in the room next to mine
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| i spoke it with fever
|
| put my foot down against reconcilable blame
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| still i dream in a desert
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| of a heart that’s been drowning in shame
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| the truth of the matter
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| is from the shadows it was staring me in the face
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| would have lost myself in the desert
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| of the hearts that lie tarnishing, debased
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| wits quitting, all the shit’s spinning
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| and fists swinging under wooled eyes
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| a tall shadow of the blind type
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| the fold or the forfeit
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| all past times of mine
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| you heard it through the ether
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| a still riding, melancholic hue
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| you dreamt in light empyreal
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| of my heart, would be coming home to you
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| until you face the matter
|
| from the shadows had been staring us in the face
|
| you will sleep in a desert
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| and your heart will lie honorably disgraced |