Life, where infatuation is every defensive liberal constraint, would they find what would paint your body in gold because the rose wouldn't make the wounds of what difference could make you scar every way we bleed, it wasn't part of you, it was just a mark of every sinister, the devil advocate is bliss, but the charm of your eyes who cry because it would reflect the water when the light couldn't see the way you understand the rain but the clouds form the way we gleam the changes of the sun who couldn't see the moon because our eyes are wondering what we can't understand every meaning, every feeling.

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