A cantancorous sore,
that is what you have become;
A tumor of my heart,
to which I always succomb.
Keeping me alive,
yet causing so much pain;
causing my pulse to quicken,
oh my vision is so vain.
Keepin in tune with all you do,
your signals are so mixed;
can't begin to tell you how I feel,
when all your life's plans seem fixed.
 
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