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How do I feel? I feel sad. I feel like I don’t know how to not feel sad. That’s how I feel.
We were sad, but we were happy-sad.
The Cure’s lyrics were great, but they were ambiguous. God knows what the hell Robert Smith was singing about most of the time, other than love and death.
I caught elbows in the pit and took the occasional crowd surfer’s Doc Marten to the head like proud battle scars.
