Quote: This ain't no communication. We're no good with words. And it's tryin' ; your practiced cryin' and it just sells your side. I wish I could pick you up and put you somewhere else where you could gain momentum by yourself a while, but I would only bring you down again, I know. You ain't no Dylan Thomas; you're too good for words. And it's failin', your metered wailin'. It just buys you time. I wish I could take you and shake you like a rag-doll and cut you with a piece of glass to see if you bleed: you're just not yourself. I wish I could pick you up and put you somewhere else where you could gain momentum by yourself a while, but I would only bring you down again, I know. Your voice shrinks up and ceases. I kill the lights and take it in. It's getting hard to tell myself that you're alive. I'll build a Christ on a cross big and hang 'im high to heal you. Things were never this way when we were little children last year. And now you say it's not a waste of time; oh, but it's gone. You just can't see things that easily. And if I told you, how would you respond? Well, you'd say anything.
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