Outside the street's on fire in a real death waltz, between what's flesh and what's fantasy. And the poets down here don't write nothing at all. They just stand back and let it all be. And in the quick of a knife, they reach for their moment and try to make an honest stand, but they wind up wounded, not even dead.
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 814 | 2020-04-02 19:47:02 | 91.34 | 98% |