The first tapping of the third eye,
Is assuming that everything is normal.
While the second note of the sweet trombone,
Clears our memories for re-use.
Is the island that makes us strange,
Feeling with water our deepest pains.
Consuming each breath we take,
Then taking us to our comfortable bed.
We're recieving anonymous calls,
From the people we used to know.
Telling us to leave our homes,
So we can have some fucking fun.
Penetrating our souls with rage,
Feeling raped every single day.
She feels so sad with her heart,
Even though it's not her fault.
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