The branch ain't follow other branches, it set for it's own path,
lived it's own life, wrote it's own story,
And had it's own, flowers and leaves, to speak of,
It was a journey on it's own, And now, all that remains is the splintered wood
that faces different directions, carrying nothing on it, but perhaps a memory.
lived it's own life, wrote it's own story,
And had it's own, flowers and leaves, to speak of,
It was a journey on it's own, And now, all that remains is the splintered wood
that faces different directions, carrying nothing on it, but perhaps a memory.
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