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| Sometimes it is words.
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| Words from lips.
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| Lips that have always spoken.
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| But never listened to.
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| As I am privileged to be me.
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| Not knowing how it really feels to be her.
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| She with the spoken words.
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| She with body and soul.
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| As I cried for her, knowing that she did too.
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| Mad at Passing.
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| Ashamed of Acts.
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| Cursed by Ancestors.
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| May the privileged hold her history.
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| As they want to free , free what must never be forgotten.
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| So the wind blows in different directions.
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| It is only some of what we move.
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| I state that she must be us.
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| And I want to be her.
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| But I cannot state these words.
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| I don't want to take what is hers.
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| That history already stole.
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| Berried under time.
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| Berried under forgotten.
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| The weakness of an apology for so much that needs to be discovered.
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| The privileged knows that the deed is time-traveling.
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| It is the way of digging into anxious times.
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| Into the forgotten movements.
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| As humans are untouchable. Humans will live. Humans will hear. Humans will speak.
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| Humans come back for you , they won´t forget.
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| Cause you are non of above.
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| You are you.
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| You are me.
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| You are them
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| You are they
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| You are time
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| You are forgotten
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| You are the act
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| You are the oppalegy
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| You are the shame
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| You are the silence
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| But you will never be the carrier of everything you are not and what she has been.
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| I will never be the carrier of everything I am not and what she has been.
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