And the Angel Sang

We make our own paradise. It may still be pouring now but we’ll create sunshine.

In black and white, high upon a stage, the angel sang. The wind carried her beautiful voice across the whole trampled meadow.

I keep my demons alive. They can’t die as long as I live.

Many have tried to kill the beasts in my head but they only created more.

Let’s compare scars, I’ll tell you whose are worse.

For so much self-pity, I’m pretty goddamn complacent.

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