Is itself a storm, too,
That has its calm, which is also a storm,
All way back to the womb,
Not unlike the glass that is half empty,
Or the one that's half full,
You can't deny there is a glass at all,
Nor in either case can't you take a pull,
That is the beauty of this thing called life,
Not what some people see,
But that all of us can see everything,
That's what's called being free,
Then you can be,
Any side of the coin,
Without worrying if it's the right choice,
Or caring exactly where you're going.
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