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Air
Rotting flesh;
this stench of regret
A life which makes no sense;
where is nothing is fair
just falling in the air,
slowly to your death
wishing you had never been born,
Rotting flesh;
this stench of regret
A life which makes no sense;
where is nothing is fair
just falling in the air,
slowly to your death
wishing you had never been born,
