

A beloved detestation.Whisps of hair shamefully obscure the view, Of the girl who trusted the Earth's hollow heart. How could her affection not be neutral, Between he whom failed to fufill his part?A beloved detestation.
When in his view, his glare discriminates, But when he's near, her heart would dance. Would she have to meet his high-standards, To earn a single, interested glance?
But is beauty actually skin-deep? Is love determined by an impeccable face? How could such lovely eyes travel no further, Into the chest, containing a heart trimmed with lace?!
But alas, not all choose to see, &nbs


Dancing to the tune of life.Life is a perpetual dance. At first, you'll stumble and fall. Learning these maneuvers requires will. Dire consequences come to those who stall.Dancing to the tune of life.
If your desire is strong, you'll master this technique, And meet those that are loyal and stout. These will be partners, throughout your continuous dance, Leading you away from astray motions, and doubt.
Occasionally, you'll taste horrid samples of pain, Your feet will ache from dancing so long. You'll search, and hopefully discover a way, To morph the tune of the old, dull song.
A few dancing partners will u
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"No, I don't know where he got the sax." -[link]
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