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I’ve got this momentum, this drive. And, with my mind brewing in dark thought, I’ll strike while the iron’s hot. I suppose, I should settle the fuck down, unfurrow my brow. The tears add up and I fear I may drown. I’m in a waiting game, stoking a flame with no name. Burning bright, each and every night. Biding time and taking aim and pummeling all those around me, wild with glee… I’m a banshee. From this glimmering sea, I send a murder of crows, as arrows, guilt free. “Oh, it’s not you, it’s me…”, it’s time to reload. Yeah, if I don’t keep this up, this barrage, I’ll implode. You see, the fire was hot, clearly my clarity was not. While the fire’s hot, hot, hot, hot, whether I am or am not. Now, I’m alone. You see, this wasn’t just your home. I’m in a circe of flame, with only myself to blame. I’ve been playin’ with fire. I’ve been playin’ with fire. Fire. Oh no… this fire. I’m consumed by my fire. I’m a-flame in my own shame, for when I lit up this place—while tryin’ to save face—to my rescue, no one came.
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