| There is no sound but the wind as hours bleed out into days
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| With days eventually bleeding dry, slowly fragmenting out of existence
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| All due to introducing this euphoria within
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| It was hacked with a tiresome, blunt, and tattered dagger that I bear close to
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| my vibrating heart
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| These gods aren’t here for saving me now
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| Their purposes is mind-numbing liberation
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| How can one be so obstinate?
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| So set in their repeated ways?
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| So entrenched in those endless grooves?
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| What a waste, with this eroded concept of absolution |