Heaven or hell
Someplace no one can see
Memories of when I was three years old
Good memories from twenty-three years ago
I can’t remember them
But they’re not forgotten
Dirty things can still look beautiful
A familiar voice from the past, goes from me to someone else
I’m throwing these memories in the trash
Pouring gasoline and setting fire
Wearing black in mourning, until someone comes for me
Living just to die
That’s why I was born
If I was in the grave, I’d be happy
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