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Separated

By Wil C. Fry, May 23, 2005, 11:17

Copyright © 2005 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.


I sold my soul to the remote control
But nothing digital can fill the hole
In my heart that was made for you

You had bright eyes and full of surprise
Ever-changing smile that never dies
Even when nothing in life is true

I love it when pretty girls cuss
I wish that “you and I” could be “us”
Though we’re unalike in all we do

But you’re over there, playing with your hair
Both of us afraid to lose what we could share
Ignorant to the world that will be new



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