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{waking up on november 27th} john dorsey every year on my birthday when i think about my grandfather rolling over in his grave just long enough to push death's snooze button for what seems like eternity but is little more than a man made decade i have a moment of silence for silence in hell they whisper my dreams hours spent betting on longshots dark horses and black sheep in a country where there is little difference between a peep show and a confessional the ghosts pull wool over my eyes the fabric of the american dream i try to remember his last words one more time before i fall back to sleep |
