As the sand fall into the bottom glass
As the grain fills the cavity with mass
I am tending to my own wound, unrest
But every second is a new hurt
Every moment I'm hitting the dirt
For the feeling you refuse to convey
For the words you refuse to say
As the sand fall like a high torrent
As the grain reminds me of my torment
I am tending to my own wound, lament
But every second is a new stump
Every moment I'm numbing the lump
For the feeling you refuse to convey
For the words you refuse to say
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