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Weeds
There is an anger comes off this girl,
That she can't find an origin,
The things i plant won't grow,
Yet the wild weeds flower in wind and snow.
Nothing to be nothing to prove,
Nowhere to go nothing to lose.
When will my season come,
Was i born of infertile soil,
Is my seed without song,
Can i not see the woods for these forests in my head,
Can i not see the sunlight as i play dead?
Nothing to be nothing to prove,
Nowhere to go nothing to lose.
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