Pounding away in the back of my head
Until I've almost lost myself
And those red and black patterns
In which nothing happens, have made me sleep
A beautiful voice is a nail
Being pulled out of wood
Carry on little hammer
You were always my favorite toy
When the world's dead to me
In my soft [unverified] fortunate cushion of pins [unverified]
Is a soldier [unverified]
The unfortunate truth sneaking in

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