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Handed to me in a million comforts
the graces of what I've become
solid and belonged upon a purpose
the manner by which I've known
and it all seems so far away
that which was, that which will be
while within resides the withered display
the listed aspects of my mourning

Don't ever hold me back, not with tethers
nor with doubt
because I take these simple steps
your comfort is what I'm all about

This sacrifice that tires me
the wounds of my complexity
each scar a trophy of my intent
worn within your discontent

It seems a simple dilemma when this emptiness
is my greatest tragedy at present
emptiness is but nothing
not even a lack of fulfillment
rather it is the without of what I need within
in order to continue