THE ME THAT USED TO BE
And though the chance remains
Memory fades to fantasy
That seems too hard to face just now.
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Too soon I'd cut the chains
In my efforts to be free
Too soon forsake my place behind the plow.
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Sick, some say, obsessed
I've seen the illness in your crowd:
Each one considered blessed
By your eye-blink caressed
To the facts of Life and Love unbowed.
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To you they hand the reins
In show of fealty
Skipping truths that might provoke a row.
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In all I hear refrains
Of the me that used to be
The me that acted so (and how).
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