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What will you do after your finest hour. Will ordinary tastes be sickly and sour. Will your fame be overcome before long. Will you be left without your song.
A boy who has dreams. In a mans weary body. With arms with no reach. And weak trembling knees. I had wants I had needs. Which were ripped at the seems. Now there's pain when i breath.
When I was young, on my life I swore, To be something different, to be something more. But as I grew older, my dreams were lost, Left cold and helpless to die in the frost.