| Shapes of things before my eyes,
|
| just teach me to dispise.
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| Will time make man more wise?
|
| Here, within my lonely frame.
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| My eyes just hurt my brain.
|
| But will it seem the same?
|
| Come tomorrow, will I be older?
|
| Come tomorrow, maybe a soldier?
|
| Come tomorrow, will I be bolder than today?
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| Now, the trees are almost green.
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| But will they still be seen,
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| when time and tide have been?
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| Soon, I hope that I will find
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| thoughts deep within my mind,
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| that won’t disgrace my kind.
|
| Come tomorrow, will I be older?
|
| Come tomorrow, maybe a soldier?
|
| Come tomorrow, will I be bolder than today?
|
| Shapes of things before my eyes, |