Imagine

Godwin’s law for libtards.

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If this dreary song, articulating a sentiment even a beauty pageant runner-up would cringe at, sung without irony by a multimillionaire tax avoider with a shitload of possessions — including the white grand piano in the drawing room of the stately home at he's singing the song gets you through your darkest moments, heaven help you.

Except, if there’s any justice in the world, it won’t, because by your own simplistic lights, it doesn't exist.