My feelings are getting old,
And they're going to die one day.
But on to them I'll try to hold
So you won't fade away.
My fingers on them are slipping
And I'm not sure if I can reach.
The feelings I had ripping
They're bruising like a peach.
Maybe we can get them fixed,
Or maybe make some more.
This time they won't mixed,
This time they'll be pure.
©Odd
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