You never met a day that meant a thing
Without breaking down, breaking out, to
sing,
But you presume I'm less than genuine
Each day I am not so inclined.
You complain you have not seen my soul.
Ignoring reasons for caution, control,
I don't see why you don't suppose
Our souls just shop for different
clothes.
Just as you are convinced you must
bring me along,
I could be sure you hide something
'hind smile and song.
I might be more subdued, and I might be
sleepwalking,
But I'm still honestly me when I'm
writing and talking.
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