The Day Is Dead

October 11, 2008
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It was the kind of wind that sliced my throat
Made me sick with ice
I ran with rasping breaths
Because they said I must keep going
But the voices were thobbing
And I lost track of my vision
Who ever said ignorance was bliss
Was never blind
But I guess they never felt the kind of wind
That slices throat
And makes you sick with ice

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