and it's the times like those. when i begin to slip through. to fall back and to fade off. to the fear and the silence. to the uncertainty. the footsteps faint, the breaths creeping. the devils at the heals. that tongue tied, pale skinned, shadow of everything that should be nothing at all
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man. this summer, i wish so badly that cowboys were touring, and you were in the van, right along with us.
i miss you, kid. and we really should do something about that, very soon.
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