Crim3s
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From a minute to a day, i'm fed with air that's cut, from the voice the of the weak that knows its not enough.
From a minute to a day, i stand not far apart, from the passing shoulders who thought they stood alone.
Who's that dreaming
Dreaming no truth.
Forgiveness for memory i refuse to know a world.
Who's that dreaming
Dreaming no truth.
Between me and myself i cant meet a world.