I am mere molded by your hands.
When the lights go out,
are you ready to fall?
When the world stops its turn,
are you ready to die?
Please mother come shape me,
alcohol still on my breath.
Glass antiquity ready to break.
Island waste ready to be found.
Will we know when we’re found?
Will we live when they choose?
All of these things,
revolve around us.
Like they wait for us to die.
Remember me
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