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Mar 1
In your heart, to spare some with me
Or will you get your hands ***** while you break mine?
Breakfast smells ironish meanwhile, and the skies don't look so pink anymore,
No more la vie en roses, only reality, moldy and old same reality;
𝐀𝖓𝖓𝖆
Written by
𝐀𝖓𝖓𝖆  F/from the sun
(F/from the sun)   
  251
     Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho, V and e
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