Walking In A Circle
Hold out for a century
My arms are getting tired
The chains that bind my fee and hands are starting to burn
I watch a blister forming
I feel the sand paper burn
Inside my last dimension where my fever starts to swell
Infected by the anger
Decaying with its puss
I am a lone survivor who nobody wants to trust
In and out of conscience
Hoping for a star
Waiting for some new relief
Being quaint seems so dire
Listening for the train now
Waiting by the line
Holding out for last resorts
As I walk away from this
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