viernes, 30 de septiembre de 2011

It hurts to breathe. 
Well, every time that you're not next to me.
His mind's made up, the boy is gone, 
and now I'm forced to see. 
I think I'm on my way.
Oh it hurts to live today, and he says
"Don't you wish you were dead like me?"

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Forget it.

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