that's not my poem line and not my plot, the way we make up our minds, the way we hide. going back to my place. the color indigo, all shades, i've got a scent you trace. i know you're spying on me, my home is nearby, you know the way by heart. that's not my poem line and not my plot, the way we make up our minds, the way we hide. i've found my own way out, but you cannot - you're starving out
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