Surgeon of my chamber quartet, steer your indelible steel sharp between my unfrozen ribs. Be surgical with your bow. We can share my laughing gas my amnesia my ineptitude my serious forehead strapped to the table with your countdown I L I L I L I L on the strings of everything and I will dream dreams of cinnamon and butter wrapped around the cello of you I am under I am under you never had to count down when you put that sweet pill in my mouth I knew I would be under I knew it would be true.
-Tay
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