It's too late I'm G---
8 up all my choices crybaby.
We all just pens and fingers, for a eulogy of those been befores.
How does one stay tall today with addiction to shortness?
When you rush you won't feel its keep, permanence is two.
In that two is a living one, the system so ambival.
Sadness gardens happiness so now we are the weeds.
Sonatina No. 1, Op. 67: III. Allegro moderato
de Serene Star
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