Like Butter

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Twisting and turning
Like butter churning
He lays in his bed
A pillow over head
Not knowing to think
With his world so bleak
The color has left
And taken his breath
He looks to the sky
Just wanting to die

Deceiving the mob
Climbing out of the tub
The color returning
No more of this blurring
His life is set straight
No more of this wait
It is time to yearning
No more twisting or turning





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