Come back to the alley, baby;
Come back to where we lost our innocence running, 
moving like drunk lightning through a forest of broken needles
until we were more stitches than people.

Strung out;
Like gruesome puppets,
addicted to home surgery and dollhouse tea parties.
Living vicariously in a single serving world that
prewraps all of us, lovingly,
with the kiss of a factory stamp.

...

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