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This disease makes me feel so sick, sick, sick. No fair consequence...My tired consciousness, raped off all innocence. These broken parts constant, relentless. And death of this predates the silence. I can't communicate. It's too late and yet I wait for and end of this. Repititious sequences. Never lifted of the heavy weight conscious. Not given a single chance, and infected by your ignorance. This life equates no sense, attenuates my lack of faith, it's wy too late. Tho I wait, an end of this, one way, not the other. Damn I'm pissed.
Would you sign a record contract with a major label?
http://www.fsrl.net << Future Skully Record Label
Way to much history.