i made a pact not to sleep through the end.
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all of the dreamers are stuck in their beds.
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fight off the attraction to always play dead
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i'm tortured by white noise in half hour sets.
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ears ringing.
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your mouth ran for miles
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but hasn't gone anywhere.
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you're lost.
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i heard the word on the street and it means nothing to me,
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so how do you like me now?
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where's your passion?
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the renaissance man is a thing of the past.
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to you it's fashion.
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dress up don't address what keeps us from resting.
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the jackals circle for the feast
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i try to fight it off,
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but it's consuming me.
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the rapture has only begun
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(while you sleep,
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they watch you breathing)
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and you can bet it gets worse
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when the moon crashes into the sun
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(while you dream,
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both ends are burning)
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pray for one more chance
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(they will steal the air
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from your lungs)
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in the back of the hearse.
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overturned as your insides prolapse
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(wake before
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before it's too fucking late)
|
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everyone has a skeleton key
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and everyone rots in captivity
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and everyone is sleeping off the heat
|
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you shut the blinds
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as they cauterize
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what lives inside.
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you shut the blinds
|
as they cauterize
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what lives inside.
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-----------------
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Starving Artiste
|
The Bled |