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When can I see,
Without these artificial dreams,
Set before my eyes,
Not willing to show the truth,
Afraid to give it away,
Asking for a price,
It's already indebted to.
When can I be,
Who I've always wanted to,
Reaching out to grasp,
These traits that I see,
In another persons being,
Will I be the last,
To figure out my soul?
When can I free,
These feelings trapped inside,
Generating grief,
That I must turn to dust,
In the palm of my hand,
My only relief,
Is to blow away my fears.
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