forced to the line to taste this american pie. bent
distorted bodies lay against this pale, empty background. and we're
blood runs. moving. pulse quickens. breathing. removing this false picture.
and you'll ask me 'what is my industry?' i comply
immoral roles assumed by such godless participants in deviant acts.
forget these barriers ingrained inside. when will we understand that
here is my voice. the speed, the wondering darkness of
I'd like to give my neighbor a hand,
because he's bleeding.
But
I've figured it out
I have the feeling girl
Kisses on my
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