I see warm center flanked by a snow bank
And this American flag raised in pure cocaine
My girl in the center, she is not the only one
We see the danger, guns with the twenty-one
Salute the past, it's a relief now that we are leaving
Don't lie to me here, say you care grieving
I pray, cut yourself on angle hair
As my bones grow into you dear
In your right wing, now broken wing
You and me flying, not really
We still be sleeping, skeletal beings
This is the place called recovery
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What is public must be legit, fit for average consumption, don't forget. What is private is handled by pirates, prying loose profits from prosthetics. To tell the difference between: first remain unseen with a steady breath and hope, then listen to the cracks in the wall with a stethoscope.
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