Turn around,
Look at all the pieces laying on the floor.
Can you tell me how they got there?
Cause I sure don't know.
Maybe it's whats left of me,
After everybody finished using me.
Maybe I kept too much inside,
But would you have seen through my facade?
The pieces are scattering all over,
and I don't know if I'll ever get them back.
Maybe change is for the better,
Or will we all regret it?
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