those who see don’t always understand
and those you pretend to understand
are always the most blind of all
some peoples keep their secrets
many built them from scrach
my eyes are blinded by morning light
my eyes are in tears of joy by love
my eyes are telling me things i don’t want to see
my eyes are in fear of night with no sight
my eyes are a mirror to my secrets
my eyes are a reflection of me
my eyes are a palette of painting
Exactly what you will see when you walking down 42nd street. It’s not for everyone;)
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