Lines on the table
Match the lines on your face
A line dividing want you want and what you can’t replace
In the battle that you’re fighting, the rabbit wins the race
So follow sinners, to the golden stream,
look, but do not taste.
You love it, you hate it
It fuels you to go on
You love him, you hate him
But he’ll always be the one
You fight it, deny it
But it’s who you have become
You’d pack a bag and hop the train
But you’re already gone.
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