I can't stand the sight of your stone.
I climb over cemetery gates and drink 'til I'm gone. I grieve and I grieve. My withering frame turns in the - rain and a funeral passes my way. It's so wet and so quiet. There is no God in my heart. The falling rain makes my head hurt. I try hiding under my coat but I just end up praying for death.
It's quiet when the pain comes.
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