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| Your needles and scarings And twisted incisions Are screaming like rain drops On your street and door step We're burning the scraps from Your notebook, it's summer And I began thinking As you started packing On your pale white flesh, Screaming skin, like the dead I mailed the letter With Blood on the pages And promised to do it Again if it pleased you I gave you your own skin Leaking crimson liquid I liked it, it gave me A burning sensation I wished you could see all The Colors on my skin |