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(This is the entire For the Record Series. So all these are already on here, but these are the finals) / / / / For The Record, Her Diary
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She breathes in deep and lets it out
..her dancing was futile, his words were fake
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the stars are falling all around
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continued from 'If {is such an abstract word}
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next day he gives her wings by
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The French ultramarine dances
With the permanent magenta.
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Sadly, there’s this thing called ‘laziness’
According to my band teacher it is a four letter word.
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Bottomless pit
*Black void*
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Creating the bout of moods he flings
Upon every soul in the world.
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The valley echoes with the shepherd’s bell:
Tales are carved into trees, like Egyptian tombs.
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by On-A-Whim
22 lines, 10 comments,
on Oct 12 6:17 PM 2004. In Hope
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What's that thing, over yonder,
Wandering through my grass?
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Hiking up the hill, and
standing on the same dock
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