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There is one who asks if there's something else, I open the door, step back out into the driving rain and bitter cold, and say no.
I don't like what's in those eyes, the way he looks at me. I don't you know.
I don't like what's in those eyes, the way he looks at me. I don't you know.
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 415 B
It was supposed to be:
Well around here we're dying all the time, there's this wasteland of the soul, this empty sorrow of a place, and do you know though once
we believed in something the end result was a twisted desert, a blank gaze, a dark and vacuous sort of being. We're never going home, it's
always gonna be Tails alone.
That's okay. I don't need Sonic. Truth is he was something imagined. I've always been by myself.
Such a long way. Wish me luck.
Odd. It regressed to the last text.
Well around here we're dying all the time, there's this wasteland of the soul, this empty sorrow of a place, and do you know though once
we believed in something the end result was a twisted desert, a blank gaze, a dark and vacuous sort of being. We're never going home, it's
always gonna be Tails alone.
That's okay. I don't need Sonic. Truth is he was something imagined. I've always been by myself.
Such a long way. Wish me luck.
Odd. It regressed to the last text.
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