I'm at my wits end,
And still had a lump in my throat.
I'm going to make an end.
So, Found a kinderd spirit, hoping to float.
Then a moment, even i lost purpose,
As my love freckle with age, nothin adore.
I lift my grief, what could be the purpose,
Fearlessly, i will hold on sight of shore.
In a fix, trying the last burst,
By the river, to find my sailing boat.
And on walls I've claimed with durst,
I'm fed up, not the faint of heart.
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