It leads a quiet life
In the early junes
In bright white lights
With fifty beats of pulse
Per a day, none of which are grey
Per a day, none of which are grey
It has doors that let you in
But no out
It's the reason why you locked the pain inside
And washed away the past
To the last day, none of which were grey
To the last day, none of which were grey
I want to stop chasing ghosts
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