Plastic people. Adorable costumes, playing their parts. They come here and they play their bit. They know their role and they fall in line. Commonplace. Comfortable ideals and nothing more. No feathers to ruffle, no turf upturned.
The truth machine runs dry. Unclean, virginity soiled and fouled by poisoned cosmos. Terrestrial ambiguity and a tambourine plays for nothing, for no one but me. Crippled by the truth. Foul taste. Foul ideals. Forgot the day when it meant more.
Remember the sunshine. Clean water. Pull up, pull out, dry the bones. Take this towel and bury it. Take me home. Take me home and tuck me in. I want it to end. I want it all. I wish I never met you
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