Me, the only one who hurt, the victim of my inner invention, is here, home alone.
Lost in my own trick, confused in my own nigthmares and lonely.
Me, who left my country, my family and my friends in the name of self worth and independence, me who hurts.
Me, the same child wanting the same love, the one who was suffering too, and still.
Still looking for love, for me, and hurts, still.
I know that there is only one who hurts...who rush for solutions, who figths to get out, and inn and out and lonely, still weaps, just me.
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