I have an alien self
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One of its kind
I can't ignore it or forget it on my shelf
It is called the aching heart
It bleeds each time I play with it
It has a big wound
No matter how much I try to stop it
It seems that I'm doomed
On my knees, I say "please
Stop crying, your wound is drying"
Every time I hear the same answer
"you know me, I was a good dancer
Words used to cure my pain
Now dictionaries are used in vain"
My reaction is always the same
My head is down, it is so lame
And I turn around and see my dusty shelf
And I think "maybe it is the time to ignore my alien self"
To err is human, To forgive is divine