| I would rather suffer in sweet silent solitude
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| Deathly defiant from drowning out
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| Filthy sounds stumbling ugly and crude
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| Between the lips of your beautiful mouth
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| Deep down within me words move in phases
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| Frozen and still until they decide
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| To melt and drip over the pages
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| Until that moment they live inside
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| My words enjoy the feel of the paper
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| Better than me, lay with your consonants
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| Once they get going, they never waver
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| And they slip in between your ifs, ands, and buts
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| When my words are hiding between the lines
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| Then I’m afraid they won’t hear me call
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| What if they fail me without a sign?
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| What if they hardly surface at all?
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| Screaming and throwing your weight around
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| My words choose knowledge over politics
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| You can’t kill my words, they know no bounds
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| My words are strong and they don’t make me sick
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| They still remain my only companion
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| Boiling truth to the very end
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| They’ll never ever completely abandon
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| Ever give up the paper and the pen |