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Fainted Breaths: Nothing Left
You can call the fire
hoping it burns my soul.
Wishing I wither to dust
in the dawn.
Pray nothing comes out of me
but friction on my bones.
But I'll come...
hoping it burns my soul.
Wishing I wither to dust
in the dawn.
Pray nothing comes out of me
but friction on my bones.
But I'll come...
