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There are holes in the walls and ceiling,
All around my head, black stars,
Like cigarette burns scarred inside my feelings.
Void and dizzy pictures dance in my mind,
Wheres the bathroom I think Im going to be sick.
I feel the cold, rusty edges of the holes in my head,
And the darkness as it flows from my fingers.
There is only the negative blurs of black stars now
Wheres the bathroom I think Im going to be sick.
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Credits: Papa Squalls |
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