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Burning Old Stories

With hardened hands make a fist and take down,

With one desperate hit you're building and shaping the hate that you feel.

You're scratching out memories you're burning old stories,

Twenty-one years of bearing the cross six months away.A mother has lost the youngest of three ungrateful unworthy of any pride,

It's not what you have love it's just what you lack.

Give up this act give it a rest,

It's time to come home it's time to move back cause' I know you're not waiting on me.I hope you don't think that I'm letting go,

So I look at myself and ask what good would come from this shell,

But I can't say if any at all from here on out there's no point on dwelling

On the fact that you put these conditions on a love that we had both given up.

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