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Diagnosis

There's not a prince for everyone,
So trust is given out to none,
Though the poisoned fruit might not come,
To fears it's easy to succumb,
Whilst within a crafted cocoon,
In time there'll sound a sullen tune,
As envy brings about a gloom,
Which brazenly aims to consume,
It seems there's nothing to be done,
And there is nowhere to hide or run,

There's nowhere that feels like home,
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