The faceless man with crystal hands crept into the room last night. While shuffling his feet, so incomplete he gave himself quite a fright. Rock stars fell(never doing so well) into the savage garden below. And within our hands lies the face of a man we do not wish to know. He springs from within wearing a sinister grin and pounds at the door to our soul. We can feel his touch, burning too much as forces struggle for control. He doesn't speak, his eyes don't leak, and he points to us like fear. While his crooked hands(with soft demand) draw all thats lost so near.
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