Censor Static blue eyed hours

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Why does it all change when the sun goes down?
What answers am I seeking in the corners of the darkest parts of me that are so used to tossing problems around?
Lighting fires and drowning out.
Lending time to the blue-eyed hours that I couldn't live without.
Chasing rabbits in and out of holes.
Hid my habits in the splits and folds.
A shambled fable, fading hard and fast.
Couldn't shake the feeling that my shaky feelings and their shaky feelings and their shaky feelings couldn't last.
I'm tired of the voices in the woods, murmuring a verse about the person they know I turned out to be. Maybe I am on my side?
I'm tired of the hands up on the clock, pushing us to think about the people we know we turned out to be. Maybe time is on our side?
Maybe time is on our side.

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