When you were small,
We had the privilege of running on fields of grass,
When we grow older,
The wonderful fields of grass turns to glass,
Well, thats not all,
There is no more grass to break our fall,
Now its glass.......
We don't have any choice but to walk on,
Feel our skin being torn,
A new life is reborn,
Many people don't understand,
So please take my hand,
I am afraid,
Not of being dead,
But else.....being betrayed.
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