Don’t scramble through old quarries for cliffs, they said
Copperheads dont tell stories; they’ve bled
But better I’d thought I know, and so
I’m trapped in the bowl of the coal hole
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Don’t scramble through old quarries for cliffs, they said
Copperheads dont tell stories; they’ve bled
But better I’d thought I know, and so
I’m trapped in the bowl of the coal hole