When we look back down the line, nothing shows the compromises made (we've made). Staring down the barrel of a gun, blinded by fear, showing what we could have done. And these were carved from our memories of all. Can they be called our lives? Bearing down on me, this world owes nothing to me. Bearing down on me, plagued by catastrophes. The end is in sight for me. The rapture bears its hammer.
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