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On
the
eve
of
a
day
that's
forgotten
and
fake
and
the
trees
they
await
and
clouds
anticipate
the
start
of
a
day
when
we
put
on
our
face
a
mask
that
portrays
that
we
don't
need
grace.
On
the
eve
of
a
day
that
is
bigger
than
us
but
we
open
our
eyes
because
we're
told
that
we
must
and
the
trees
wave
their
arms
and
the
clouds
try
to
plead,
desperately
yelling
there's
something
we
need.
I'm
not
free,
I
asked
forgiveness
three
times,
same
amount
that
I
denied;
I
three-time
MVPed
this
crime.
I'm
afraid
to
tell
you
who
I
adore,
won't
tell
you
who
I'm
singing
towards.
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