It's kind of, what, confusing?
when you know so little much,
that everything you're using
doesn't smell, or taste, or touch.
And nothing comes from nothing,
so is nothing what it was?
For all or maybe something 
we keep giving all of us.
It never hurts to know,
or understand what's going on...
But sometimes all you know
is what's becoming something wrong.
Hold my hand and tell me
why you can't enjoy the morning.
Your thoughts are so compelling
and the sun is dawning.

The End

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