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He can't read it for himself
For fear they're laughing at the spell
Nervousness is a poor man's hell
And it will find you all around
And he knows this isn't it
That it's close but it's not this
In the morning, sits and stares
Slightly shaking and aware
And as the hours pass it seems
There's no time for the bad dream
But he know's this isn't it
That there's somewhere left to fit
And it's there but it's not this
So it stays until you quit
