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Seven And Thirteen Lyrics
The trivial little things left in your wake are beloved
Terminally infected limbs
It is not the firing squad, but the blindfold that makes us tense
Loss of perfections leaves no cause to persist in searching
Leaving me longing for the day that finally smothers all hope
Terminally infected limbs
It is not the firing squad, but the blindfold that makes us tense
Loss of perfections leaves no cause to persist in searching
Leaving me longing for the day that finally smothers all hope
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its not the problem thats killing you
its the waiting be it a fatal diesase,demise in a realtionship or a bully ready to beat you after school nothing including the climax, can compare to the wait