5th Story Balcony

September 4, 2009
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What do I write when I'm forced not to say?
Thinking so many things. Just stay out of my way.
Everybody is having such a good 'ol time.
The one who realized they're past their prime.
Bugs in the air are polluting my lungs.
The answer he gives is always just shrugs.
The flowers are dying before my very eyes.
They had hope to use them as a sort of disguise.
Only one question as I look over you all:
When will it be my time to finally fall?

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