Well, when I got your letter, I could not contain
The urge to go beyond our inheritance again
And the drug of ages, in pages of your pen
I got to put it down
Maybe you got glazed by all the shit you had
To taste for to descend, to let me in
Maybe it's okay now if you turn and run away
Anesthetic days of crusades and consent, the idiot intent
And though our love was likely your disease is so competent
You're so proud of the few risks you've taken, child
But no it's nothing new, we all continue
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