The storms of fleeting weather 
Beneath unsteady breath 
Settling on old thoughts 
Like ever spreading fire 
Unconfined and unbounded 
Buried by black birds
A routine designed to blackout 
Waxed wings across the sky 
Waiting for the next turn 
Blaming words on bad luck 
Setting fire to slow trains 
Eating progress 
Swallowing bullshit 
Fun is never over 
Death is never near 
Nothing comes to nothing
The room is out of tune

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