Questions For the Heart
How cliche is that? A dozen perfect roses...
Why is it that whenever I am ready to step in your door just closes?
I do not know, and why is it that you cry my tears from me and not your eyes?
If it just because my sight is filled with lies?
I do not know that answer to the things that you ask,
But why, my heart, do you always try to hide behind a sort of mask?
How come my tears almost always look like little broken hearts?
And why is it that when I think I am most happy that a tear starts?
I do not know, my dear heart. I have no answers for your questions.
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