Questions?
Questions?
Mate.
I've got questions.
I've got so many fucking questions that I am starting to look like a fucking question mark.
When I stand up my back bends and my head droops in on my belly.
My feet have detached from my legs.
I can't feel the ground anymore.
Questions.
Questions.
Mate.
By now I reckon I know that there's always gonna be questions.
And that I will never stop asking them.
The only thing I can tell you for sure though
Is that there aren't enough fucking answers.
And that there never fucking were.
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