lyrics
The tweeter-- hand nail--displaces his body--fat using a gutting knife.
It hurts at----first, but--- the longer he twists, the----better it all will become
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You can’t stop contact dermatitis. It gets you, I’ve got it. In another five years I’m going to be a giant red flake, I hate you. I depend on disconcerted feelings.
Imitate our lack of interest in anything but eachother
Watch ourselves in the sort of complex system of discontent sex and love
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