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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Music >> ID #997042 |
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black painted nails grip a microphone,
and he clutches his passion. he arches his back, as black strands fall into his dark eyes his muscles strain as he screams his heart into the night eyes squeezed tight a slow breath escapes his mouth; a metal ring through his lower lip scrapes the rough surface of the mic head pulled back once again, he looks adoringly at the crowd. the music swarms around us, and our bodies rock to the swollen crescendo of sound.
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