| twelve_years_gone | ||
|
give or take a few days memory of a dagger through the heart disguised as a letter all my fears and insecurities laid bare and struck like chords i can hide behind a mask, but the fear and insecurity is sometimes the only substance i contain, and as much as i hate the song those struck chords play i can't get them out of my fucking head |
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| ... | ||
| Traveller |
my fucking head, resonates. . |
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