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I cant create mystical creatures that enthrall audiences.
I cant sing epoch making stories of hapless lovers.
I haven’t yet designed a new funky car.
Heck, I cant even paint my bloody wall.

Why is it that I want the very things I cant have?
Why is it that I always want to be where I cant?
Why do I always want more?
Why am I always dreaming of better?

Don’t try to console me.
Don’t try to show me others are worse off.
Because my pain is my very own, mine alone.
You cant make it go away.
But you can make it better.

So just tell me what I must do.
And tell me all I need to hear.
Tell me that I’m not alone,
That in loneliness we are all together

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