Wisdom has many faces
Hunting light in their own riverbeds
I often smell truth and sometimes
It doesn't smell good..

Why don't you hit me?
A fist hurts for a bit
Was it for your own good,
Or was it for mine?

All these long years,
these b_____ tears went deep down on my riverbeds
Smell truth and sometimes
It doesn't smell good...

Why don't you hit me?
A fist hurts for a bit
Was it for your own good?
Or was it for mine?

Why don't you hit me?

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