Once, I placed you up high on love's suspension,
In its tender hands was a queer comprehension
Then, the voice in my throat grew less of my own
My lungs, damaged, from proportions you had blown
I took the bruises, I played it tough
You called for a truce but I've had enough
I mustered all my courage and I packed my bag,
So I could walk on out from this place that lacked.
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