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The day they drag you across
the room by the hair, sit you up
slumped into a chair and
thrust
a bayonet through your hand
into the wooden table in front of
you and then take hat pins and
slowly ease them under your
fingernails, you at a time is
the day I wake to - every fucking
day.
And
I've got plenty of nightmares
for you to borrow any time
you want.