Everything I own is broken
and everyone I know is poison.
Love can leave a rich man begging,
the gift of life is often times poignant.
My pity isn’t had for the hanged man,
my sympathy goes only to the hangman.
If I were me then I would make a difference,
but now I see we’re really quite the same, man.

Everything I show is spoken
and everyone I write is poison.
Love had me in its clutches like a reaper,
wasn’t drowning though for I am very buoyant.
My mercy isn’t had for every tortured her,
my forgiveness is reserved for every torturer.
If I were you then I would make a difference,
you will find me in the flame so light a torch, for sure.

Everything I grow is poison
and everyone I hold is broken.
Love can always have a silver lining,
but most of us will pass if it’s not golden.
My sympathy is there for every heartbreak, sure,
my pity isn’t had for any heartbreaker.
If you were me then would you make a difference,
and water down the pain before his heart breaks her?


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