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The Perfect One
It is hard to be called oh-so perfect
When having to act with what they expect
Is the only way to live my life now
And, yes, I cannot even take a bow
The daffodils are turning crimson red
I cannot rest and lay down on my bed
Because I have something to take care of
When all I want is to get those things off
The river I bathe in is running dry
And whenever I fly up to the sky
Diff’rent airplanes would hit me suddenly
Sending me back to earth reluctantly
And then, I would start looking for the sheep
That was eaten by the wolf as I sleep.
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