Standing on a street corner,
with the song playing as our faded lullaby.
And I never would have let you,
with the song playing as our faded lullaby.
And I never would have let you,
if you didn't already have my heart inside a glass jar on your shelf.
So I came, like a thief in the night to come and steal it away.
I just came to see you, to see if I could take it home with me today,
to keep you from stealing anymore beats of this broken heart.
It flutters and it rests and rises
--because of you it darts in this direction and that.
And I'm torn, my little heart is scarred and scared.
How do I tell the world I lost it?
My own heart.
Will anyone believe me when I tell them it's not mine?
How do I tell them I committed such a crime?
You tug and you take,
and told me that this wasn't wrong.
But how will I stand to lose you?
You can't keep it forever, this little heart of mine, it has a place that it belongs.
So when will you give my heart back to me?
You can borrow it for awhile love of mine.
But the truth is,
I need it back in time.
For as it tugs and it tears and tethers strong,
it lives in my chest,
and it doesn't do well being strung along.
--But this is just another autobiography, examining the prosopography of me.
By: Emma Marie.
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