One half in frustration, another half in praise, while a quarter is crying.
Polychromatic yet non-chronic apperances are dying.
Has us minding the movement.
Without moving the mind.
Over the matter you meant.
Under mad hatters.
The latter being only at the time.
The time when i had her, never left her through rhyme.
Still while everyone is crying, some may praise you, some may frustrate you.
But never throughout time and the combination of matter, have i seen them love too.
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