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Stakes are high I lay low Shadows filled with complete sorrow
In my mind The truth stays bare For those who succeed Don't really care Don't really know Don't understand, from the pit of the snow
So I lay my hands Far away from the hindges In an invisible cell Making shelter for them whingers
When the steaks are high and we all decend low I lay dead with a bullet in my head, street corner painted red No sympathy, respect, no tomorrow Pit of Snow, Death Without Sorrow
This post has been edited by TinTinn on Tuesday, Mar 27 2012, 21:04
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