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This was never an easy walk.Just look at the scars of my heart, and they will talk.They'll show you my countless faults.My countless falls.
They say suicide Is a selfish act. Although I never could fathom why When it is so difficult to acquire the help one needs For when problems are spoken And cold words form in the warm air
When darkness falls he raises his head. He's free, not a servant of the light. He ventures to paths no-one has tread, Keeping the night obscure and bright. Is there a reason for irony such as this?