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"How did your baseball game?," was the innocent question that I asked that started it all. When I asked you that, I never in a million years thought that I would continue to fall.
I found a box in the attic, It was covered in dust. It's label said "Dreams, I'd been forced to give up." I collapsed to the floor. As old wounds did appear. As a page of a book.
I once had the chance to take a stand To give the world my helping hand Or make a difference in this land But I walked away When I was young I loved to dance To put my soul into a trance
I beg this question upon you, Tie up my wrists Bind my heart Wrap it tenderly beneath your knife I assure you It does not bleed For bleeding is a sign of death,
Let's toastTo the restless nights To the tired eyes
when is it approprate to give up and give in when can the breathing stop and the struggles cease to be must this tradegy continue must there be a crash and burn cannot this end here and now