E tù Brute?
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The
Ides
of
March
I wrote this world a shelter,
I sang this world a pain,
I fought this world a sorrow,
So I might never know, again,
I sought myself an answer,
I found myself a void,
I made myself a promis,
To abstain from being, destroyed,
I played the sky like a fender,
I felt the tears like age,
I cried to free the demons,
Who could free me from my rage,
I wrote this world a story,
I sang the world away,
I fought to fight the anser,
Of what it meant, to be okay.
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