| The low blow blues will leave your name in the mirror.
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| you shiver at the memory of every ruined minute,
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| the much, many, fewest, a creature without
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| -sweet and selfless, got no gun plant nest egg-
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| the empty underwear, you can’t shower it off,
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| you dance blind-folded off a mel blanc cliff.
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| last night you held your tongue until it fell off in your hand
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| and as always you ate it to ensure it’s growing back.
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| sleeping off regret would mean a lifetime in bed.
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| i’d like to find a field and quit in the royal sense.
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| girls, shocks, thrills, and terror, the pins in the bowels of the charmed
|
| design.
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| it was the mutant perverse in their holiday sweaters.
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| i was drawn and quartered and ruthlessly smiled at.
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| i know no joy, i’m a mule from the bible,
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| as a kid the ss rode bikes under my bed.
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| i was born too big, it made me easy to shoot at,
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| and time is like a surgery with no survival rate.
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| between the music of rockets and all the lab coat cunts,
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| my heart is crushed like a mechanical santa clause.
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| girls, shocks, thrills, and terror, the pins in the bowels of the charmed
|
| design. |