The rain took my soul,
the tunder ripped out my heart.
Now the storm as left me here to bleed.
Torne into pieces, at least that's how I feel.
Al alone empty inside,
surrounded by nothingelse then silence...
Nature is perfect,
so what's her plan I wounder.
Can the wind heal my wound,
or is this for why I've been born?
...
...
...
...
The fifth weel is rolling...
The fifth weel is breaking...
The fifth weel has no purpose...
Thimotej Community Member 
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