We don't have a biography.
. . . the body remains in a vacuum Gagged, bound, and sick with dread Knowing the words that can't be spoken Searching for words that must be said Dumb, inarticulate, heartbroken.
I am no good at love I betray it with little sins For I feel the misery of the end In the moment that it begins And the bitterness of the last goodbye Is the bitterness that wins.
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