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Hearts stamp to the beat
of the droning tune on the ballroom floor
bodies twirl in the black light
spirits always on high
guttural tones of bands unknown
fill your ears till they bleed
this punk wasteland you sit
neither high nor drunk
you wonder why you are here
slam your palm to the floor
and stand up
open the exit and free yourself
the depression of life
inhale the air
no longer stagnant
fresh full of life
to a liter tune