The Seasons Will Balance Themselves Out

Harlots

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The roads have a natural curl a desert of concrete walk through walls with a burden in the arm I choose to keep death is but a fiction lived above everyday life the want for power will
consume there is no hope no siren to give us a warning it's
like a gunshot to the stomach no time to react forgiveness is a fiction that will remain nonexistent silence is the response we will receive with open arms shut your ears we are the crush of
a fist to the face of humanity driven fathom of a fear that left you weak we keep our eyes shut not taking notice of what
is beyond these walls they act as gates to a world that we have never known if walls would stay shut and doors had no keys we
would act like cars with no gasoline inside these walls we strike a match ignition as a key sparking engines to move us
around driving head on into a wall on this collision course it brings new meaning to us all we all put life aside awake and
never wake up autumn will show us the beauty of dying winter will show us the meaning of life...