The world is turning
Three exact copies
Merging in and out of existence
this was supposed to be the good stuff
i can feel it rotting in my gut
a burning napalmy rolling
every copy is exact
in its differences
my eyes glaze over the already glazed view
I don't think I saw you
theres always tomorrow
another bottle
another way to cure the hangover
a self fulfilling prophecy
the sickness is the cure