Maybe this is accidental. Maybe history repeats. Maybe I'm just sentimental. Maybe I'm not who you thought I'd be.
Why do I always think about death? Why does it seem so romantic to me? I think concrete steals my breath. These streets just love to see you bleed.
I know you know I can't stay here anymore. This place is a hole. It's killing me just like before. You said "I don't believe you, but I don't need to"
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