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Every
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day,
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I
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imagine
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a
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future
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where
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I
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can
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be
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with
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you.
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In
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my
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hand,
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is
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a
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pen
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that
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will
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write
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a
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poem
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of
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me
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and
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you.
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The
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ink
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flows
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down
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into
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a
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dark
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puddle.
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"Just
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move
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your
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hand;
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Write
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the
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way
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into
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his
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heart!"
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But
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in
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this
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world
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of
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infinite
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choices,
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What
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will
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it
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take
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just
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to
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find
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that
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|
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special
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day?
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What
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will
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it
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take
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just
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to
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find,
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that
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special
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day?
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Have
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I
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found
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everybody
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a
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fun
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assignment
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to
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do
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today?
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When
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you're
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here,
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everything
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that
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we
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do
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is
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fun
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for
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them
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anyway.
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When
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I
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can't
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even
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read
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my
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own
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feelings,
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What
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good
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are
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words
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when
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a
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smile
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says
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it
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all?
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And
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if
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this
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world
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won't
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write
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me
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an
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|
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ending,
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What
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will
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it
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take
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just
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for
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me
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to
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have
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it
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all?
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Does
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my
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pen
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only
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write
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bitter
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words
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for
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those
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who
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are
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dear
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to
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me?
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Is
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it
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love
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if
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I
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take
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you,
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Or
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is
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it
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love
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if
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I
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set
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you
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free?
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The
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|
ink
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|
flows
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|
down
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|
into
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a
|
|
dark
|
|
puddle.
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How
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can
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I
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write
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love
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into
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reality?
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If
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I
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can't
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hear
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the
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sound
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of
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your
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heartbeat,
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What
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do
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you
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call
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love
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in
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your
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|
reality?
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And
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in
|
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your
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|
reality,
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|
if
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I
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don't
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|
know
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how
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to
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love
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you,
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I'll
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leave
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you
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be.
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