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de SPIRIT OF THE BEEHIVE

Heavy hand, middle class
Chemical in a bag
All I want, love me all the time
Enough is never enough
I won’t talk if you pull me up
And collect my blood inside a cup

Spit me out or let me in
A fantasy, a sedative
I love the way you turn to face me
Drive to my head
Filled with smoke, seamless dread
I don’t come to you now
When you call I can’t feel it

I remember the promise of a future
Could it all be in my head?
Could the reaction be a godsеnd?
I made my bed, I’ll lie in it
I bit thе curb and all at once
Vision blurs, pressure rise
And then time becomes nothing

Face that truth
Any old you
I don’t care
I’ll be your soon
A folly of youth
Spit and then bend
I don’t care
I’ll be your friend

I’ll be your friend (in death and youth)
I’ll be your friend (in death and youth)
I’ll be your friend (in death and youth)
I’ll be your friend (in death and youth)
I’ll be your friend (in death and youth)
I’ll be your friend (in death and youth)
I’ll be your friend (in death and youth)

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