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From Your Balcony
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That Inferior Feeling
Your favourite rite
A candle light
Your skin, a knife
A growing scar
You feel guilty
Please lean on me
Just ask yourself
What makes you deaf
Outside, it's war
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You hate this noise
These cut and dried opinions
This flowing crowd who moves about
You just don't dare to come and talk
You look guilty
So far from me
Like Bukowski...
Alone, with everybody
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