• Off towards her, a continuous chase Scream like she's British, although she is of French descent Tear off your clothes, they will only slow you The only game she will humor is that of the chase Take a hold, capture her in plaid A pearl tipped tree in a speckled wood Take shape of the coil Interest her in a train towards stone covered roads Where porcelain eyes will pierce the glow of her cheeks Through the tunnel will be answers Shake them into me Repeat them so it becomes my inner self words become an illness letters a virus eating at my very soul

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