You want to talk about things you won't understand
Then give me your ears
Put them in my hands
Give me your hands
Put them over my ears so I don't have to hear a thing I say
If it makes me think
I can't talk about things I don't understand so I leave it here in empty hands and I leave off the ink so I don't have to think or sink that low ever again
Because my memory of what's good is leaving me
I knew it would
That part of me makes no sense
That part of me is my conscience
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