Follow Him to the End of the Desert doomtown

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It´s not a very habitable place, my hometown is just a hold-down of profound Nazis and cold minds.
It´s funny how they defend this preposterous mindstate, when these so-called “underdogs” ride a populous brown wave, but they always make me laugh and somehow I persevere and oddly enough, you see, I’m not the only person here that focuses on the negative to keep ourselves positive, like how wolfhating fuckheads all have prehistoric arguments, and how for 3 whole months there’s basically nothing but darkness, well…
We get some sunlight so I’m not completely honest.
I see graffitiartists making pieces in my namne, that’s how we get it started, I hope I’ll speak with you someday.
All of this is really perfect, the smaller things that bugs me and the bigger things that makes it worth it.
My sheer existence has spawned some complications but I’m needed here, this is my base of operations.
I used to know this woman who hade the most beautiful braids on the topside of her head.
She was slave-Leia in high definition, and that’s about as exiting this story gets, cause there’s nothing mysterius around here at all.
The undead on the other side don’t get my call but around here you know the loud get’s to show cause a bullet flies fast and a wolf dies slow.
A blue-collar hometown
Nazifucks and Wolfhaters
Things aint always what they seeme
I’m staying right here.

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