you said i tasted famous, so i drew you a heart, but now i'm not an artist i'm a fucking work of art. i'm a tightrope walker, can't find my circus, and i'm damaged beyond repair, now you're just a coffin, of a girl i knew, and i'm buried in you. sometimes i dream i'm an exterminating angel, a travelling executioner from heaven, sent to give you the prettiest death i know, call the grave and make our reservations.

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