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I drink to the ones that can sit with their souls and not wish for sleep and the nightmares it brings.

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I like you here, between commas, where the only thing you can break now, is my lines.
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You load your words as I bare my chest, and this will be the most beautiful death.
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Every now and then I roam the catacombs in my head and attempt to resurrect you, and make you shiny again.
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