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Creeper
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The Secret Society
Because we're young,
because we're young,
they don't think of us.
they don't think of us.
In summer swell, suburban hell, the callous heart rose and fell.
We don't love or hate.
We don't feel anything.
We wince at the days that remain.
The ghost of youth speaks so softly,
to toast the death of you and I.
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