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11:08 p.m. 2005-05-07

Over skies and past your eyes there is hope destroying this desolation. And creationism regains a following in faith and a lack of triumph. I am out of hope and I'm out of smoke and tomorrow is looking to burn me away.
To be honest I just want you to make this work, I don't want to have to fight for you anymore. I want you at my door wanting to talk. Or not. Things just aren't right

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words @ jake, layout @ kelly