Tears are streaming, no one lisoning, no one carring.
I'm dieing, slowly dieing from the pain and torment found in the depths of my soul.
Deamons tairing, people nolonger carring. The lonelyness is scaring; scaring the child baried deep in the past.
Past; a thing of memory, a thing of pain, something of torment.
Working, Playing, Chanting, Screaming! I'm lost and no one's lisoning.
I'm standing here and no one sees me.
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