diciembre 19, 2009

Standard
We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home

Oooh...oooh...
Oooh...oooh...

My gift of self is raped
My privacy is raked
And yet I find
And yet I find

Repeating in my head. . .


IF I CANT BE MY OWN
I'D FEEL BETTER DEAD.

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