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Life soon becomes busy, and people drift away, Memories slowly fade, and colors turn to gray. We've lost the time we've spent alone Searching for what we already own. Deep inside, we have yet to realize That it's the people around us we should prize. Not every heart is made of gold, Nor every man always so bold. But when we stop and really look Behind every cranny and in every nook, We'll find that even they can bleed and cry. And when it is our turn to die, Will we expect the symathy we never gave To guide our spirits to our grave? |
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