I CAN LIVE FIVE YEARS
IF I TAKE MY TIME
This finger gets stuck in my
ear and I cannot hear - what I
want to, alone and only. No
longer seeking alternatives; I
simply seek to run away. A
magic of Purgatory awaits me :
some made up spot where only
monks and sinners go. The flower
of my generation has withered,
dried, and fallen. It is all of
a Winter now.
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