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Is Nothing Sacred
05:23
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You run your fingers along the back of my neck. Raising hairs like spider's webs; avoiding mirrors like broken eggs. In the land of the blind the one eyed man is king, but my strength was a fault, and I regret nothing.
The line was cut, though my fingers stuttered. The rhythm paused by anxious lovers. Cut him free for fame and ease. Wear his scars as permanent rings. An undying reminder of where we've been: unchained from dominion. Oh darling, so we think. So let's get undressed. As one last plea from me, don't stay idle, run as smooth as a dream. I'll catch back up, with a flower, as the sun still beams. As a hand gesture in a silent film, I'm as played out as a desperate will.
I just hope I never lose that warmth of June, but the bottle is the only substitute: to you who made me laugh again. So I'll run and sprint until this bridge gives in. And I'll sit at home with The Smiths' record that moans everything I don't want to know. And I'll keep the cold edge to the side of my bed, because it's not time to use it, not yet.
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