begin to hope

What if I queeze myself into any shape, and I still don’t fit.
What if I bend myself so much that I break, and I can’t mend it.
What if I burn so bright that the fire goes out, and I can’t stay lit.
What’s the point in it?
I could get good at crying crocodile tears, just to get along.
I could carry on telling you what you want to hear, until my voice is gone.
But if I finally get to the place I think is home, and I don’t belong.
What’s the point in it, where’s the benefit, when I’m gaining all but I’m losing it ?
(Pirate Bones - N.B)

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