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It's not me. I don't usually do this. I'm not normally like this.
So where have I been then?
It's not me. Where have I gone? How long ago did I leave?
Can anyone still see me? And who should I believe, is me?
I'm sure that by the water somewhere, among the broken things that gather there,
I might be found, safe and sound.
Why can't I feel? The sadness walks around me.
All the terrible things that I see.
How beautiful it's supposed to be, to me?
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