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Scared of the darkness,
The scream, the noise,
There is a mystery caged,
Pain in his voice.

Lying to himself,
He is alive,
His soul being dead,
Burning in a pang of great guilt.

He lives with misery,
That he has himself built.
So beautifully,
Yet with great guilt.

He is not honest,
He makes lies,
Not good at making them,
But still, he tries.