Mahogany eyes, you saddle me with doubt Behind the stadium, when you were coming down The lighter leaves are lost in the freckles on your skin The bitter taste of blood when the rooftop's caving in Rotting good Would you, would you cut the grain? Would you, would you string his neck? Would you, would you steer this wreck? Would you, would you? Tease me, torturous, bend to your death ...
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