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A thousand eyes are fixed on your glory.
The fabric on your skin narrates your story.
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The metal on your hands is a tribute to friends and freaks.
And to those who analyze the color on your cheeks.
The height on your feet are an excuse to ignore.
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The gloss in your hair is consolation for your ache and sore.
You are sheltered in the aura of grace and class.
As you admire yourself in the looking glass.
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