The Pressure

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What is really stopping you?




Is that pressure finally getting through?




You make it seem so effortless,




When the urge is threatening to confess




What is the game you play?




Strike me down don’t delay




But do I see a glimmer of love




So invisible and white like a morning dove




I don’t want the fame or to be blue




Can’t you see she’s using you?


But, popularity has gotten a firm grip

To where you cant even take a trip


Down the lane of what you want

And where the regret of me will always haunt.





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