| Messages from broken bottles fall on black sandy beaches
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| Ink in vain across the page now run from morning dew
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| Hands which chance upon it lead to eyes which strain to read
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| Heart which pound from love long overdue
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| Lips which press together, stifle rhythmic heavy breathes
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| Oh how she cries from vicarious love from the one he writes about
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| She must have been so glad for him to throw it out
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| Further steps lead to yet another broken bottle
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| Again the words contained have bled the page
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| Whose tears were these which ran the ink
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| From who they’d pour to make this streak?
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| Were they his by chance from telling her or hers by chance from reading it?
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| they could have been collective
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| they could have been from someone else
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| why don’t we see whats at the bottom?
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| why don’t we see what comes next
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| oh how she cries from vicarious pain from the one he writes about
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| she must have been so sad for him to throw her out
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| lets just say she is better off somehow
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| lets just say she has never been happier than she is now
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| we couldn’t fake it so why even try? |