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Baby Blue

Deafheaven


I woke in a sweat from a desirous fever
In the pocket of yesteryear
Where faults have fallen to some
I begged not to carry the corpse
To not be a queer fish in unforgiving hearts

To not be buried in native clay and preserved for cynicism

I wish to be a pauper in kind eyes
To feel the gravel beneath my knees. to wake in a home

God had sent my calamity into a deep space
From which not even in dreams
Could I ever imagine my escape

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