Sing
the woes that make all men singthe hearts that hang on tattered strings
the sorrow, torchers the song we sing
this heart too hangs from that string
possessed by what the world has to say
be it angelic, demonic it steals the day
it hampers the sight, distorts what we say
words hold all captive, from dim to light of day
its out there, everywhere, the pain we feel
it burdens the mind, it's numblingly surreal
tears of joy, sorrow, confuse what we feel
its the songs we sing that make this life real
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