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May 2010 


Look at what's ahead

and don't turn back.

I can't anyway.

It's dark at night, ain't bright as day.


Turn this year into last year

and rewrite the fear.

Turn four o'clock back to three;

rewrite the history

and rewrite the pain.

But I tell you here:

all that'll be vain.


I'll never get enough.

It'll never give me enough.

And it'll kill me.

So look me in the eye.

You'll kill me, and I'll die.


As for now, I wait for next year.

The fear.

The pain, and then some.

And I wait for tomorrow.

I wait...

for where five o'clock is from.


                                                                     Listen to the deafening silence,


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