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Melted to the frets on the. Breast plate of the instrument. It held down the magic,. Even made millions of excuses for the. Dead beat notes knotting up the back of the room,. Killed the mood while the moon. Went winking on like an insane drummer,. Drilling beats until the death of that first kiss. Was drawn in the notes of the song. The tiny thing I hated, it fit too perfectly into my house,. The final fret grew thin.
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