| Cut with dull scissors and tied with a ribbon
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| Curated under the glass of my pendant
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| You always said you hated the things you can’t control
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| Like all the wild hair that grows from your follicles
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| I’ve been collecting pieces of your hair
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| To tuck away in the locket that I wear
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| Pretty strands that grew in your youth
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| Pieces that I’ll always hold on to
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| Sweeter than a vial of your blood
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| Will never dry or disintegrate
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| Pieces you’d tie back when we made love
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| Now slipped away where they loyally wait
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| When you’re old, grey, and diseased
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| I’ll still have parts of your young body
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| The one you lived in when you loved me
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| The rest of you now decomposing
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| I’ve been collecting pieces of your hair
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| To tuck away in the locket that I wear
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| The pretty strands that grew in your youth
|
| Pieces that I’ll always hold on to
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| One day, you’ll be dead and embalmed
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| But bits of you will be existing on
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| The pretty strands that grew in your youth
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| Pieces that I’ll always hold on to |