Dan Bejar Generator
the plague , and the fall and the old grey mare in her stall.
i think about you often,
off in their deathbed,
the light!
oh,
i don't do this every day.
the strata council sees your face and decides to declare you 'a doll.
keep an eye i looked great on your own pulse.
your backlash was right where i wanted you,
i want to our own kind... a sick of clay
as your form dictated... i went down to the garden
with the noblest of intentions.
i think about you often,
off in their deathbed,
the light!
oh,
i don't do this every day.
the strata council sees your face and decides to declare you 'a doll.
keep an eye i looked great on your own pulse.
your backlash was right where i wanted you,
i want to our own kind... a sick of clay
as your form dictated... i went down to the garden
with the noblest of intentions.
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