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Dec. 7th, 2033|01:38 pm |
Wake up, it's Christmas mourn
Those loved have long since gone
The stockings are hung but who cares
Preserved for those no longer there
Six feet beneath me sleep
Black lights hang from the tree
Accents of dead holly
Whoa mistletoe
It's growing cold
I'm seeing ghosts
I'm drinking old
Red water |
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