I'll take Sunday night with a blanket over this old, dark house. An occasional ruffle, but nothing like you or even this memory of you. Do you save our pictures like I do? Home is where you die. We we're like a lullaby. You hit like a hammer now. You used to lean into me. Now you stand away. Those wheels just push right by now. Just a few feet from my life. If I leaned into their mess. I'd see you in hell. See you in hell.
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