Den bästa låttexten någonsin i världshistorien (irrelevanta, överdrivna glorifieringar är vad som gäller!):
And whether it's because of the number
of hours spent laid face down on my bed listening to white noise,
or, well, obviously it's not,
I somehow manage to translate them from Braille
The trails on your skin spoke more to me than
the reams and reams of the half finished novels
you'd leave lying around all over the place
And every quotation that'd dribbled
from your mouth like a final, fatal livejournal entry
I know
I am wrong
I am sorry
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I'm pleased. I'm pleased.
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