I'm turning off the television and I'm writing you a note About how I cannot break through this damned status quo About how I have no zeal I almost drank so I could deal, but I still feel for ya. About how my phone screamed and squealed; supposedly, a wake-up call For me to dress and go. More like: run, give my all. But I continued my withdrawal, said I was tired, sick, appalled Tonight with red eyeballs. Answers: Will I get them? There is no hope left. Screwed. Soon the summer will end. Ugh. Press on...
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