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How complicated we are; never wanting to lose our luster, just to be malleable in the most devious of ways.   How selfish we are; not being able to burn to ashes,
Our art has no real meaning behind it And if you ask us, we’ll say “I made what I wanted, you tell me why” Then we’ll leave it with you for a collection of dimes So carry it off, this piece of culture emulated
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