Imagine

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.

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Godwin’s law for libtards.

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