rumors of the day before today.
Whatever you are writing, I want to read it when you're done.
Especially if it's about me; your common slip of tongue.
You'd better slide this key down your slimy, lying throat...
And take back every word you said, and every fable wrote.
Yesterday's last year is the backyard I never visit.
They have wilted cherry blossoms underneath a faded tree.
Yesterday's last year is when things went spiraling.
And yesterday's last year is just not the place for me.
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