Where is the beauty in rainbows?
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When everything I see is in black and white
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With each of my words I kill yet another
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Like pieces of stained glass, they are all different
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yet still part of the same window
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In the garden of the dying season
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the pieces were scattered
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Some falling deep beneath the surface
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while some laid among the weeds,
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entwined and gasping for air
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And all the while I ask myself;
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Why do we kill the things we love?
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Such Are Mirrors
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| Twelfth Of Never |
