You ever fear the dark impressions of your future? The slightest gravestone whisper? The stillness of your heart? I feel it growing dark. A fever inching deeper, A fever inching to the core.
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As years go crashing by, I think of all I've pondered, So many minutes squandered, So many things undone. I've tried to figure out How many lives I've wasted waiting for the perfect time to start.












