God bless our dirty hands
and that brave dive into something drunken and immature
My sore throat leaves my voice coarse against your pale skin
and fingertips make sounds which bounce off from white walls
I'm un-apologeticly ridiculous
and you're just out of your mind
and still everything makes sense
I told you, I write about everything
The only thing which I want an explanation to
is that in these kind of cases,
why can't I ever remember when did we fall asleep?
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