translation is a loss when the casualties are patternednwith skilling treatment in manics so far removednco-ordinating symptom is the echo of agonynabuse the flesh to trigger disgustnreinventing the noose whip of loyal liesnlive it one at a time, live it one at a time, loathe it all the timenidle asylum ache splinters gracenescape bleeds out recoveryna seep in supply replaced wholeheartedly in a missing link of lossncomplexity is hanging high to stimulate withdrawlnsociety's transparency will pick at collective thawneverything is a disappointment in theory with sympathy as therapynfeel formal; feel forsakennforecasting must secure in the cult of industrynwhen extreme compulsions crowned to revise a scorendevoid of emotion with a hex on the wishnhardships will always benefit on choking from the role