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Everyone talks about it Why won't you be about it This angry hand that you raiseDoes nothing but appraise It appraises our loveHow worthless it isHow it hurts to stick around
bound to the thought of tradition, chained to the idea of reality structured in the ways of the ones before you, trapped in the shadows of others
My body was a temple my heart made of gold a stranger he was so impulsive and so bold he took what was mine innocence forgotten as he crossed the line
I am here. In this dungeon. I fear losing my grip on sanity, for the longer I am bound to this cage the more I feel my mind chip away.