All relaxed with nails bit to the quick while golden was the silence,
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like a foam filling the mouth of the exempt.
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The burdened saw the damage, absorbed with our legs lost to heated white lies.
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We remain to pull its frame from the ashen wreck of anxiety,
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blown to conspicious borrowed attacks.
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We've got the nerve to live so low like this,
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with nails bit to quick and teething blood so warm.
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The man who keeps sewing needles between his teeth prefabricates every spoken word,
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with no weapons to lay in front of me.
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Robbed of my skills in social weaponry, robbed.
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Impending was the omen, no choice but to sever dead skin.
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You reap what you sow to degrees you'll never know.
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|
-----------------
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Ebola
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Cave-In |