You want to be alive but your dead silent.
Your calm brings you your whole figure.
The lamp that continues to circulate without the bulb.
One left lone to see a cold stare.
As he walked up the stairs,
his legs remain nervous to run for another mile.
The screaming voices, kept within, continue to crowd without warning.
Then as the calm shines over, the thoughts stay shaded.
One right before a sudden cold lie.
The match that continues to burn without the flame.
Your calm takes your missing piece.
You want to be dead but your living silent.

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