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Monday, June 19, 2006

The Eye

The eye,
the very watchful eye
watches me making every move
and I can't make up a lie.
That eye belongs to a relative of mine,
that eye belongs to my brother
And everytime someone disagrees with him,
the eye shows that he is mad.
When my brother used to use me
the eye would tell me how he feels,
and now with the memories,
every thing feels so real.
Wherever I go,
I feel that watchful eye
and I never know what to do,
maybe I should die.
Even if I did die
I'm afraid the eye would come with me,
heaven or hell,
I don't know where I would be.
The eye, the watchful eye
watches me every minute.
The eye.

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