You said to me, “Use those to ensure the fate stick come true,”
and so I did follow your sweet little lips.
They did not make me feel better, bastard.
Now I miss you more and more
Trying to recall the time we had togather
as if they would make me feel better
Though you are not here
and never will.
Like two separated pieces of the little
red, fate wood I picked.
Would you yourself tell me
what can we be and leave
the wood alone?
I prayed I wished for you.
Is it you my heart has been waiting for
all along?
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