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Sleep Weather
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This Machine
I wish I lived in my dreams, where I'm not colorblind
And people grow like wildflowers
And wake up before they die
Inventing my own city, full of people with their heads down
Your eyes are always fixed
The medium is always missed
Their candles never lit
Being the ground beneath your feet,
Watching the flakes of dead skin pile up
And form a sheet
To smother the slow burn
Of this machine
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