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Me, with dull gray

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I can only draw tired eyes, with dark circles and eyelashes like rays from the sun.
I can only write sad and tragic, or loved and aching, sopping with the metaphors just sitting there on the top of my head.
I capture her in the rain, but not in my song.
I capture nothing in my song.
I wonder why I feel this way; so I look up at the sky.
Illuminated raindrops fall from the street lamps like tears.
If we are the rain, tonight it's only sprinkling.

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