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Jan 15
A song
A birthday
A book
A person
A love
A trust
A future
A memory
A minute

The point to this-

Fingers of death reach to cover my eyes, touch my cold face, and envelope the memory of all that slipped away.

All I can feel is hands.
How I feel when I forget the next song I want to play
Written by
Psych-o-rangE  24/M
(24/M)   
1.2k
   guy scutellaro and Ander Stone
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