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am i realand what do i feel
hate is half a heart
only i am in my arms
you were soldfor something to hold
nothing‘s as rude as the cold
stupidlybeaut i foolish trueyou
maybe madness is a heart maybe heaven is a habit
if i could flyi’d live in the sky
i come from why
and obviously youdo do
the very start of everything hard
could be the slip of a fingertip
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