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It brushed across my knuckles, cutting my skin.

It was hard and thin:

But it was razor sharp. 

The tune was off, like that of a harp. 

It was twisted and evil:

Like something from the devil.

This life may be slow, hard and full of trial: 

But after a little while, 

The sun behind the clouds breaks through. 

All that’s left to do:

Is sing. 

Whatever you’re going to bring

To life: make it count.

And sell, out

The tickets to your dreams

And let your heart burst at the seams.


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