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The Dead
The dead stare at you in dreams
Holding broken candles
Tucked away in a sickness
That keeps their voices low
And their actions inexplicable
Their murders and death by death
Cloaked in the randomness
Of everybody else dying instead
Holding broken candles
Tucked away in a sickness
That keeps their voices low
And their actions inexplicable
Their murders and death by death
Cloaked in the randomness
Of everybody else dying instead
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