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Music Box
by
MALINDA
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Pinch, pull and stretch the clay Swipe away the dust, revealing what's true Mold me in your image, imperfectly conceived by voices less careful than you Ballerina in your music box, forever turning to the same tune Rest your brittle bones, protect your paper skin The gears will tire and wind down soon Every day is different, though nothing’s changed They stare, but do they care about what you can't rearrange? Whose face is in the mirror today? Is it me, or am I in the way? Set loose into the maze of funhouse of color and game Unfazed by the circus, playing over her head She will dance for herself all the same Ballerina in your music box, forever turning to the same tune Rest your brittle bones, protect your paper skin The gears will tire and wind down soon Every day is different, though nothing's changed They stare, but do they care about what you can’t rearrange? Whose face is in the mirror today? Is it me, or am I in the way? Ballerina in your music box, forever turning to the same tune Rest your brittle bones, protect your paper skin The gears will tire and wind down soon Every day is different, though nothing's changed They stare, but do they care about what you can't rearrange? Whose face is in the mirror today? Is it me, or am I in the way?
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