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in my time of dying all i've grown to be english can't define these feelings i keep waiting there's a strange time called trying that's vague like us i can always try harder which means i never try enough my mind is always crying concentration, saturation an aquaintance is so naive or just a blind soul fifty and a month is so long for some understanding becomes my snair the harder i struggle, the more confined i become does quanity stop at empty does quanity stop with you fifty and a month is just a blink for me fifty and a month |
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