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His hands grow cold as Holy water fills his lungs
I cry for help, but the men in the lifeboats speak in tongues
His hands grow cold as Holy water fills his lungs
I cry for help, but help never comes

Angels surround us to drag the corpse away
leaving me alone with no way to get home

(I sit and wait, my hopes invested in a search party that never comes, and was likely never dispatched. No one cares for me and I hate everyone. I realize I'm as happy here as anywhere, a scarecrow doing crucifiction yoga. I hope no one ruins my solitude.)

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Pokey Fort Collins, Colorado

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