Now that I've seen the end,
Now that the summer's heat's become harsh cold,
Beside debt, my old friend,
The constant struggle to understand life,
Despite the need to live,
The angst of possibly not surviving,
With so many in need to which to give,
Doors I walk out might not let me back in,
No others may appear,
The great desire to just be who i am,
Battles with crying fear,
'til I stand up,
Despite what I've been told,
Truth is the speaker is usually me,
Wanting to only skip to being old.
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