Monday, April 30, 2007

Because.

It was a battle of wit, a true sufferers game,
You call me up 'n read me my name,

I tried to explain to you the extent of my pain,
But you robbed me of every right I had to claim,

Now because there is a place for everything.
I have nothing,

My soul has been stolen by your mangled hands,
My heart is too futile to resist your demands,

I am left with the memory so dear,
Of a place that loved and showed no fear.

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