If the sun sheds body and the moon yields grace
What of the stars and our hiding places
I’m sorry
I would rather live with the dismantled fate
Than move in the pretty destiny
In the party of wild and blood and laying down with the diamond gold
Not in that kind of thing and never in the something else
Will we still be clean lines, violins, and seeping youth
In the middle of simplicity and breaking point
Will we still be painted
When skin is sagging grey and bone is popping innocent
Will we still be loved
When feeling the claustrophobia of jealousy and lust and desperation
Are we still be beautiful
What of the stars and our hiding places
I’m sorry
I would rather live with the dismantled fate
Than move in the pretty destiny
In the party of wild and blood and laying down with the diamond gold
Not in that kind of thing and never in the something else
Will we still be clean lines, violins, and seeping youth
In the middle of simplicity and breaking point
Will we still be painted
When skin is sagging grey and bone is popping innocent
Will we still be loved
When feeling the claustrophobia of jealousy and lust and desperation
Are we still be beautiful
Because although cessation is a and forgetting is a
Losing everything is a sadist.
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