My knuckles are bleeding on your front door
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and these flowers are wilting in the rain.
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They were for you and now they are for no one.
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They are irrelevant as mercenaries in times of peace.
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They are smoke twisting off the lips of a movie star.
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Here is a boy with paper skin who longs to touch the girl of broken glass.
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She loves it when he wears his skin like that.
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In tatters.
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Junkyard God
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| Pig Destroyer |
