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Red tea, stone floorVampire’s at my doorDevour the mouldering buffetStarving, withering The bed sheetsThe thick airLingering under the skin in a radioactive decaywhile constantly that blue eye in the sky It was the sickest summerThe sickest summer The black boxThe sea perfect for drowningNo need to runThe dogs are in the ditchesYou wouldn’t want to go outsideYou wouldn’t want to be high like a mountain when you could be this lowI was… Read More