This is the liquid of little deaths.
This is the black blood of guilt and depression.
We the sailors on this black ocean,
Drowning under it's sweltering height
We are the navigators. Lose our maps, and break our sextants.
We are the navigators. Burn our charts and smash our compass

We have lost our minds or souls,
or the knowledge of the difference

We are the sailors of the black blood. We are guilt and depression.

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