Cursing crimson walls, a thousand
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or so souls on the floor shouldering away through strobe and intoxicated,
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having berated himself in the hall and not for the last time.
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Theres never a last time.
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He's waiting again for the inevitable flash of recognition.
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Yelling in casual tones, I'll just go and say hello.
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Strange things these obligations.
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Strange things these invitations.
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Its never the last time, is it?
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From what can you take your leave
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if the sense have been smashed to smithereens?
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Hell have to cop this sweet,
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although there is nothing sweet about it . . .
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Nothing at all.
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-----------------
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Welcome Paradox
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Blueline Medic |