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this sound: faint machine- washablet b w u l e m e e
The naive caterpillar twists in all directions That's what I love the most That's right, follow the path you think is best Shout away all your frustrations any day, Every day, 'Cause it's never too late.
Three rings turns into four with razors of sound relentless against the stygian room, You’re consumed by the predawn darkness as that damn blare resonates inside your skull,
As I sit at home, on the couch, I wonder what inspires me. Does the sun inspire me? Or does the way the wind makes the blowing trees sound? I think, those things aren’t it, they don’t inspire me.