
Letra de 665
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Some butt-hurt awareness
my flesh is a breakfast
ideas like balloons
my flesh is a breakfast
ideas like balloons
are impaled on the ceiling
we've nothing in common
her fist calls her "mister"
it's past insignificant
careworn and laid
we've nothing in common
her fist calls her "mister"
it's past insignificant
careworn and laid
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