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Cut my hair with a kitchen knife, he was a blindfolded visionary. Everything and nothing was going on in his precious head, overfed on ; Chemicals and conversation A speeding train without a station Crashed at my event-horizon Feeling for the switch to turn his eyes on. And in the news, they have to say he is a blinfolded visionary. I scrape the clouds of rouge from his face and he's white as noise. From Letras Mania