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Indica

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Indica

Breathe

Hold on now, we're almost there
On the go, I lost your breath
I turned around and you were gone, night heard your sound

On the road, you turned to air
I could feel my bed in Hell

I heard your cry in my own voice, I tried to find your face in mine
I held your touch in my form, I held on

I turned around, and I was gone
Why turn around when time moves on?
Why wait to see what we saw?
We turn to salt