i always get like that in storms, you know
you thought it was stoic, maybe, it's more like a tree
my friends, they sing, you know, maybe like birds i keep them on my arms, branching
but where is the tree when you need shade or twigs for your nest
i must be selfish, all wrapped up in convenience of position, contrivance of ontological process
it's not really compassion if you don't conclude, or someth
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