The anguish that you feel,
The whispers obsessed with what you're doing,
That facts cannot repeal,
The leers you imagine, it will ne'er see,
Though, who is it to say?
There will e'er be vindictiveness to fight,
Though you did not want things to be this way,
Then it's swept along with the rest of them,
Thrown into the garbage,
Thank god it cannot feel the way you do,
The bullet it did dodge,
The lucky ones,
That have no choice to make,
That care not for the doings of others,
Throughout time, that's the origin of hate.
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