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The Taste of Blood
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Incapable of Abstract Thought
You play the headstrings as if they were a harp.
Don t you tell me any different.
So cut the drama.
We ll shed no tears for you.
You are nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Catch and release.
But I want to take you down to where the greatest beasts get butterflies.
I think you should go back to where you came from.
You re fucking things up.
You re not wanted here.
You are losing your appeal just as fast as rumors fly.
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