My golden lungs are turned to rust
The sharp edges pierce my body from inside
When I exhale, a terror forms
A cloud of desire and jealousy paint the room
The atmosphere is only tension
The directed look at the floor to avoid contact
Nothing on the floor could be as important as your pending stare
The x on my face is where you'll dig
This story is far from over
This night is far from sober
The relevance is burning out between the survivors
And the dying are being healed
Sell me the sky
And make it a deal
I've been dying to talk
But I can't get your feel
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