When the Bough Breaks
When did we stop seeing,
When did we grow up and stop believing,
When did it all become so real,
When did we become afraid to feel,
When did we lose our sense of wonder
And start piling up things
To hide ourselves under
When did "I'm possible" become impossible,
How did we get to be so hostile.
Has the bough broken?
Have we fallen so far?
At exactly what point did we forget who we are?
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