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■ Escapism
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and when the music stops
i’ll know the final hour would have ended. silence is but a continuation of the same, in another form. i do not know, what it has become and, maybe, i do not care to find out. all this has a familiar scent and, from a point in time, all circles seem to find their way to the same beginning. you must understand, repetition makes it perverse. i do not want to continue, i am fed up.
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