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wisdom has many faces hunting lights in their own riverbeds i often smell truth and sometimes it doesn't smell good.. why don't you hit me? a fist hurts for a bit was it for your own good? or was it for mine? all these long years, these bloody tears went deeep down on my riverbed smell truth and sometimes it doesn't smell good.. why don't you hit me? a fist hurts for a bit was it for your own good? or was it for mine? why don't you hit me? From Letras Mania