A boy with just a foot for providing seventy seconds of his time
A post without a name, a game that can never be Inside this glass box he sat, watching the world outside, an empty casket of his closed grave
His hands bleed, and are painted with pictures
An image in time, a bleeding sky with it wounds ripped to pieces
Because you know, I happen to like her too.
A post without a name, a game that can never be Inside this glass box he sat, watching the world outside, an empty casket of his closed grave
His hands bleed, and are painted with pictures
An image in time, a bleeding sky with it wounds ripped to pieces
Because you know, I happen to like her too.
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