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    Lonely

    Frente

    Am I real
    And what do I feel
    Hate is half a heart
    Only I am in my arms

    You were sold
    For something to hold
    Nothing's as rude as the cold
    Stupidly beautifoolish true you
    Maybe madness is a heart
    Maybe heaven is a habit

    If I could fly
    I'd live in the sky
    And obviously you do too
    The very start of everything hard
    Could be the slip of a fingertip

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