The Longest Time to Rock this Fever

sicpayne - A Jared Clarkson

Beat at my ear drums in a single hard bashed apocalypse

My dearest friend limping without whispering those sweet words of prophetic natures

Running through the wildest wars like a dusty dream, unleash the screams and howls of the painful transformation only a werewolf knows

This intimate desire of thought that should cry and tear through these veins has sunk with my reputation

No longer an artist without the time to decide the choices I can create within me, the evil of deception I prefer

The slowing down of drums and trumpets ceasing, completely black

Breathing in the cold frosted air, when hail just breaks the warm rays of sunlight and becomes instantaneous winter, this leads the cure awkwardly to disease and questions of natures versus the three dots

To aim the rifle straight at the unborn child’s head and wish to pull the trigger, to decide that the fate…

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