letra de cold - treadles
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morning comes, with it the sun, but i can’t pick me up from off this dirty ground
cold, but for the sick, sickly light of dawn. shimmery, shivering, i’ll wave my skinny arms around, sigh at my cigarette, try not to think about it
pink and bright, the light’s a knife said to slice the gray away but i can’t feel it today
pale fingers on my neck, whisper touches, honey-like, hovering, or is it concentrated breath? sigh at my cigarette, try not to think about it.
try not to think about it
try not to think about it
try not to think about it
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