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The world is full of woo–
everybody knows who they want to be
but nobody knows who’s who;
the world is full of hearts
yet few are beating straight and true;
the nose of Cruz
the Kidman’s arms, the Jolie’s legs,
somebody’s breast and butt and lips,
someone else’s breath and words,
some other’s tongue to swear at the world,
to adopt and adapt and create
a Frankenstein of the modern world.

They all know
which parts they want,
but nobody knows whose body they do possess;
that incessant mind blowing
stepping on identity’s slow but steady;
who in the world I want to be?
if not in a world I can be me–
where I don’t display myself every day
in that unstoppable show–
in a soft smelting pool,
I lose my only true ore–
and mold myself in endless shapes
not trying to learn to be
a different man
not learning to be, at all,
and losing all humanity.

Running as if it were the end–
an endless race
everyone’s losing face or faith or both–
I thrive to become everyone else,
everyone but a single soul–
the only one I owe him all;
I painted the mirror in black–
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want you to see–
just hear me say who I want to be:
I wanna be you,
the world and everyone
I will be you,
the world and no one at all.

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