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Happiness is out of tap.

We light our cigarettes with the burning fire,
raging within who we think we are.
We survive on love and desire.
Is this really enough?
More substance and more plots,
incorporated in our minds,
purely to prolong our lives.
Feeling useless and dejected,
being the biggest fears.
Although happiness is there,
it seems to be out of tap.
No cheers tonight, it seems.
Writing, writing, writing;
The only thing to ease my mind.
Smoking, smoking, smoking;
because eating makes me fat.
Looking for that glimmer of hope,
and happiness is just that.
Looking for the next best thing,
To suppress what I’m feeling.
Until then, I continue rambling on,
With words with no meaning.



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