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Billy Corgan

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Everything about life makes me lonely.

 
Billy Corgan

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It rains during the morning. No visitors today. I feel lonely and amuse myself by writing at random. These are the words:
Who mourns makes grief his master.
Who drinks makes pleasure his master.

 
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Green wind from the green-gold branches, what is the song you bring?
What are all songs for me, now, who no more care to sing?
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Green wind from the green-gold branches, what is the song you bring?
What are all songs for me, now, who no more care to sing?
Deep in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still,
But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.

 
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Green wind from the green-gold branches, what is the song you bring?
What are all songs for me, now, who no more care to sing?
Deep in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still,
But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.

 
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Eventually it comes to you: the thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely.

 
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