Come clean while I’m gun cleaning
Paint the ceiling with my brain to bring the pain to a stop
Cut so long no chance the blood can clot
Take a stab at it and fall face flat, out cold on the mat
Life’s a slog through a corpse-fed bog
The black dog walks alongside me
I see the scythe gleam the reaper’s cleaver meat seeking
No freedom even when I’m sleeping, hagridden by demons.
Alchemisland 
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