| This is it: the latest draft of our manuscript
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| But as these pages fold and expose
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| The problems I’m not willing to admit
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| Our only tragic flaw, we’re gardeners, not architects
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| Planting seeds only to watch them wilt
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| We should be digging in the trench
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| Until the structure topples just like meter in a song
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| Skip the page when you reflect on it
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| Still wondering, «How could this go wrong?»
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| Victoria, tell that story I love
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| Take it slow, you know I love the prose
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| If the setting changed, would the ending stay the same?
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| If the plot’s too slow, then you can choose your own
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| Pick up the pen; |
| this can’t be how the tale ends
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| The twist was way too obvious for a second installment
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| If only we had known about the tragedy and loss
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| Whatever chapters you might chase you’ll never save me from this epilogue
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| Victoria, tell that story I love
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| Take it slow, you know I love the prose
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| If the setting changed, would the ending stay the same?
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| If the plot’s too slow, then you can choose your own
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| Our only hope is the finale feels like home
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| What if I break?
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| What if I can’t compete?
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| What if I hold up all my cards and let you see?
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| And if I say something that makes you stay
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| It would be a masterpiece of fiction crafted just to save face
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| Victoria, tell that story I love
|
| Take it slow, you know I love the prose
|
| If the setting changed, would the ending stay the same?
|
| If the plot’s too slow, then you can choose your own
|
| Our only hope is the finale feels like home
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| What if I write the words that can make this right?
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| Would it bring all these written pages back to life? |