Gustaf Spetz
golden feathers
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The problem is that the stars are going to die
No more lights or outlined figures
The problem is that without you I cannot fly
No more loops or golden feathers
My skin is peeling off
I never thought it'd be this tough
I've had enough
The problem is that the sky is slowly fading
No more forgiving blueness
The problem is that your absence broke my left wing
I can't feel the air caressing