| A perfect seed for perfect soil
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| I sometimes wonder what you thought you’ve coiled
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| Volunteered with hopes and fear
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| You almost steered away and clear
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| Devotional and premature
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| You shared with me your own pipe dreams
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| Preconceived — false destinies
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| You must’ve known, I’m not what I seem
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| This strange, new fate has drained from you
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| All you expect, all you can do
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| And finally this circle bent
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| It twist and turned to meet its end
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| The perfect weed for this spoiling soil
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| Killing off its own mortal coil
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| A lucid move slashed off the feed
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| You must’ve known, I’m not a seed
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| You tore this need away from me
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| And left a hole for all to see
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| Now I will steal what you can’t be
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| And fill this hollow void in me
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| You tore this need away from me
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| And left a hole for all to see
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| Now I will steal what you can’t feed
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| You must’ve known, I have no need |