BACKSEAT Night fall we ride. With lips shaped from Oblivion. A Smell of leather and dye. Among the lambs clothed in white. Under Blankets of smoke and breathtaking Vermilion. The bad boy type. We are the things that go bump in the night. Under spells in candlelight. They praise our eyes. Dreamless and shaped from Oblivion. Scars are diamonds at night. Same l
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