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I was supposed to be free,
Living from day to day and painting the walls with my life.
I would remember my mother and how she tried.
The sun would wake me up every day and I would wake next to the one who would brush his hands across my shoulders when he passed me and smiled.

I was supposed to be beautiful just for me,
With skirts that would dance around my legs as I walked and sweaters that always fell down on one shoulder.
I was supposed to sit in the middle of the park on a bench without shoes and smoke cigars.
With music in my ears and gravel under my feet I was supposed to be free.
Is it too late?

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