| Entry hundred forty-one me, the misser, the late
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| Miss years to make words of what I’m missing
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| Shame I’m shaking, a loss, a crap
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| Hung by heartwrack in the grasslands me, the pridest, the slack
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| Come through rain through window new approval seas a headrest, a home a peace
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| Having all my needies covered me, the hoper, the hole
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| Family leaver, shit repeater and a rancid grudge-hold
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| Entry hundred forty-one starts back when I dared
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| God knock me down again not a single thing I’ve done meant a scrap
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| Changed the stance of anyone thought by now I’d left the barn
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| But I’m scared the fields, and I’m scared the houses, I’m scared the millers
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| yard |