Sully Erna
Nutshell
we chase the spread of lies
we face the path of time
and yet i fight, yet i fight
this battle all alone
no one to cry to
noplace to call home
my gift of self is rapes
and my privacy is raked
and yet i find, yet i find
repeating in my head
if i can't be my own
i'd feel better dead
thank you
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