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Put your arms around my neck just like a pathetic lace of death displays like a tarot deck I am the card of the hanged man and here I stand with a flame on my hand do you understand?
If there is hope for me she is flirting with the breeze on a peculiar choreography with the dead arms of some old southern tree
silently, lips sealed against me silently, wanna walk with me?
And it makes you wanna know if in all the stories the truth is really told
And it makes you wanna
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