Is it, far from me to say, what it is to say
Am I not to hold, my own to assert
When the need arise, to establish contentions
And voice displeasure, on conditions
Would you not want to know
And in that sense, that way
Avoid recourse of discourse
Where broken vases can never truly
Be put together again, on mantelpiece
It would fool no eye
Not even that of the blind
It would fool no eye
Who would pretence be to please
Desolate with sieving anger, insanity of enragement
Wretchedness of truth with identity
Left hollow to discard wet currency
Who would pretence be to please
Holding wet currency to trade
Tell me, it is far for me to say
What it is to say
It is far me to say
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