is living with heart a tragedy?
Don't ask me where my heart lives
I'm afraid I won't answer the world you belongs to,
I'm also afraid as the answer is still unknown to me be true,
But I wonder
I wonder is it left somewhere between the pages of book I once read,
Or is it in the bunch of roses in the vase waiting to be dead,
I wonder is it still inside of me
Or does it stayed behind in the moments I spent with you under that old oaktree,
It's maybe lost somewhere but I'm still living happily
Maybe Cause sometimes I think living with it was also a tragedy.
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