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The Outline

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The Outline

Aesthetics

Furnished in fur and afraid of your father
You've choked out the air, burned up the water
Your sin is yourself, a slave to your youth
Too caught up in deceit to come close to a truth
Infinitely infantile, but ultimately worth each and every while
Why do dreams dissipate upon waking, before we're able enough to intake them,
Something is missing,
Leave me, let me be, what's dead is free
We froze in frozen time
It all ends now