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Patrick the Pan
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Space, 1961
There is a place, where birds don't fly. A home of silence and sattelites. And I feel the world smiles at me, fading in astral melancholy.
I am forgotten by history and gravity. The state I'm in is a feist for poetry. Hopeless and helpless I realized – science's the only god and it feeds with sacrifice.
I know You don't want me back, I am so meaningless The closer to stars the more I feel like I'm going down, Silence, here I come into your arms. I'm lucky to choose between the blade, hunger and cold Final move and I am coming home.
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