February,
Month of despairs
Imperfect horizon lines
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The sky often cries, accompanied by a dying wind
I see you there with the black satin.
I slipped holding the wine, light up a spliff and get high
You messed up my mind, I think about you every day all night
I turn down the light
Trying turn down the voice inside my head
Which said “don’t you give up”
I laying down in these bed
I close my eyes trying to fled
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