How could I forget
the picture in my head
of you and me,
used to be family?
But now it's over
and no lucky clover
that could heal our hearts.
The scissor cut us in parts.
In to pieces, in to puzzles.
Into the fire, I still struggle
through the morning, through the night
searching for some holy light.
But I find nothing, except the thought:
I lost you, but I stil have a lot.
And when I come home,
I find myself alone...
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