The bright sun is torching my tepid pale skin
As it burns through the shackles of my fermented sin
Basking in my sadness, the solar winds begin to blow
They’re telling me come out, they’re asking me to grow
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The bright sun is torching my tepid pale skin
As it burns through the shackles of my fermented sin
Basking in my sadness, the solar winds begin to blow
They’re telling me come out, they’re asking me to grow
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