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Diffrence The little things with who’s to blame Life is called a game (time and chance) Times I held a chance… Then in only a glance all that pranced Before my eyes seemed distant (out of reach) Chance to hold in time, still… Of the moment, concealed secret pain Hidden from being fame (frame of mind) “Difference,” as what’s the beat of my heart? Hands toiling to treat the needing Using every, or any thing to keep (just love) Only too honestly believe it will be lost Gaining in my torment, heaping of grief Just to supply everyone’s greed (sick motive) The only relief I feel is my death For if I don’t even have breath There is no heaviness (anything to take) Nor remembrance of my presents “Difference” |
Additional Notes:
Really what is life?
Just to reach death!
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