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I am writing this for you, so don't say I never cared, or never showed heart.
Here it is.
Busy catching bricks with my teeth.
Distorted newspapers talk and tell of our death.
White piano keys trudge on.
You'll open up for anyone.
I am nothing more than a number to be replaced.
There is no mourning period, there is just make up and glitter, and higher heels.

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