There are fireworks in front of my house. Meanwhile, I kick out gentles and slacks. Military march covering my desk, celebrating deaths and victories. So late. Too soon. Soon. So Too Soon. You’ll die without prizes in lottery, ‘cause you bit pencils and chairs in school.
A little bit of your codeine in my water. I’ll be dying before your car explodes. And you… Standing on the last corner of my neck. So late. Too Soon. So Too Soon.
Your day is back: The bookstores are closed and the sun is not even a reason to wake up.
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