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Artist: Butcher Boy
Album: Profit In Your Poetry
I'm screaming in my sleep, I'm tired of the cool contempt of irony. These scenes disturb my dreams, the words you whisper to me don't mean anything.
My lips are black, and you can laugh but trouble comes in threes and will be coming back. You fall to rise, you sink to climb, there's no romance or beauty here, just trouble and desire.
I'm choking on a curse, my heart's a glitter ball exploding in reverse. I'm not too tender, and I've done the best I can with these two sleepy hands.
And clacking teeth submit a plea - to live between the pillow and the dirty dream. I'm far too old, I'm far too cold, I don't want any trouble I just want to find a way home.
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