Counting helps the hiding, but what I seek I'm not finding.
Ready or not.
Forearms cant cover up lies in hiding.
Counting makes the only sound, while I wait for hours to be found.
So much for making up rules while were playing.
Who cares about rules any way
They're for mindless fools and child s play.
This time, this time.
Its my turn, its not your turn.
Why should it make sense Why are you so unspontaneous
Your way tastes the same as yesterday.
So Ill shift and bite again.
Draw a mark on your skin that turns you the color pink.
What exactly will they think of you
This time, this time.
Its my turn, its not your turn.
Why are you jealous, over bearing, overzealous
Is it the lost memory of all those games you played with me
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