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Sleep Weather
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This Machine
I wish I lived in my dreams, where I'm not colorblind And people grow like wildflowers And wake up before they die
Inventing my own city, full of people with their heads down Your eyes are always fixed The medium is always missed Their candles never lit
Being the ground beneath your feet, Watching the flakes of dead skin pile up And form a sheet To smother the slow burn Of this machine
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