Compromised by the fabrication of a thing called time
and they wonder why I'm not good with my words.
I've got a gag in my throat and a coal on my tongue.
It's so cold in here my pectorals have testicles.
I keep repeating myself.
I've used up all of my vocabulary.
Oh lover, the Lord has left us.
Let's make the same mistakes that we used to on Sunday afternoons.
It is summer again, where is the love?
My life is for hire and they call this Stockholm Syndrome.
Diabolos, Slanderer, will you take my hand in marriage?
I've grown too dependent on a life of filth.
Take the claws in my sides and crack them.
Who needs ribs anyways?
Hearts are meant for sleeves not protective things
and I seem to have misplaced my gun.
Found it.
The force is strong with this one.
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