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Living a life, Of torture and pain, No happy gate will open, For me again. Never again, will I be able to walk, The beautiful sights, Of which you talk. Though you think I have so much, The pain I've felt, You can barely touch. So never again will I be able to see, The beautiful things, Which will come to be. And maybe you will come with me, On this horribly lonely walk, Of which I talk. |