What is our affliction to past memories? Sure, I could have gotten up to a lot today. I could have went for a coffee, I could have written the greatest poem I've ever put to paper. I could have. Instead I spent most of it reading old Livejournal comments and e-mails.
There really is no ending to anything, is there?
Through the walls, the end you feel it calling
There's not so much about it you could do
Out the window skies, oh skies are falling
But the last thing you would want is something new
It's cold
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