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“It’s not about the taste It’s not to be cool It’s not about trying To make myself look like a fool   It’s about drowning
I come fro
I don't depend on anyone, my walls are in place. Sorrow always seems to find me,  slaps me in the face. These tears I cry will be my last, for my father, stuck in the past. He's lost in his pain,
one drink, then two happy, bubbly, nice, and sweet and i start to wonder who stands on those feet. three drinks, then four careless, stupid, and matter-of-fact
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