| From inside this plastic casket i took my first breath
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| And choked on it
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| I thought if im loud enough maybe they’ll open it up…
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| So i sang for centuries until they unzipped the bag so i could see
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| The world which i awaited was the same thing
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| Is there a mother, does she carry my brothers?
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| Is she pregnant with more blank canvases?
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| Is there an artist who can stab his brush through the fabric
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| And tear open their chests and fix such an unfixable mess?
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| I must defend that im not a corpse
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| But a newborn
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| Because no matter how loudly i sang you still mourned
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| But i still sang for centuries until they unzipped the bag so i could see
|
| The world which i awaited was the same thing
|
| Is there a mother, does she carry my brothers?
|
| Is she pregnant with more blank canvases?
|
| Is there an artist who can stab his brush through the fabric
|
| And tear open their chests and fix such an unfixable mess? |