9 October 2007
I am not my hair I am not this skin I am a soul that lives within
Does the way I wear my hair make me a better person?
Blow out the candles
On all my frankensteins
At least my death wish will come true
You will taste like Valentine’s
We cry
You’re like a birthday
I should have picked the photograph
It laste
Putting holes in happiness We’ll paint the future black
If it needs any color My death sentence is a story
Who’ll be digging when you finally let me die?
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