Sons Of The Second String
de Sunday's Best
Here lies the boy with corroded lines.
Let's begin without steam; the state I'm in...
What becomes of him?
Cold, dark, sold, starved, blank, terror...
He won't allow.
Trace the bounded stain.
Will he break the chain?
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Beethoven St.
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Bruise Blue
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Don't Let It Fade
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If We Had It Made
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Our Left Coast Ambitions
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Saccharine
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The Try
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Winter-Owned
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Without Meaning
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