| When I’m soaring free as a pig
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| When I decide to build again like a mountain’s eye
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| The graphic on your palette twist
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| Distort like someone else’s sky
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| Placing of a bone resulting
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| Fracture push your brows in deep
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| Leave behind the residue
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| In purest form of freebased sleep
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| Gasoline tugs at the feet
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| Of men with sand and wax for bile
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| Thick it dries and blocks the path
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| Of air not free but standing trial
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| Planted spike into a wall
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| And boots now fill the hole I made
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| Climbing upward just to see
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| The freakish feast and dead parade
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| All the steps down stair and road
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| Illuminate reality
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| But what they do not know
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| Is what they cannot hide from you and me
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| A needle opens skin but keep on
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| Pushing to an exit wound
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| Severing muscle drop and fall
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| To floor of sound haphazard tuned
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| It boils flesh in vapor form
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| And rises to the cramping ceiling
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| There condenses wait to rain
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| On shell of broken heartfelt feelings
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| Nature of inaction has been
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| Spurning forth this waste of life
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| The aiming low precipitation
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| Eats away so ruthlessly
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| And slays with twisted knife |