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Song
I see your hands so full of cash, one thing I swear I'll never have, gleeful in all they covert. Yet our hardened hands, so resolute, are filled only with the hands of others. And as you grasp at the grains of youth, all Grey and Faust reminiscent, we have embraced mortality thus, escaping a desperate prison. These things we do aren't working, they feed your cancers. It's the chemicals that wash your thoughts, every time you drink to hurt them. It's the poisons in your chest, it's your lack of time with him.