Tomorrow

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Sick from worry.

Worried sick.

Anxious in my chest.

 

My chest is in my stomach.

My stomachs turning round.

 

Life’s quite short, so please don’t frown.

 

I’m new in town,

this here’s not my own throne.

 

To you I’m known, to others I’m not.

So rest your head, against your chest.

And let poor sorrow go.

 

Tomorrow we will know, tomorrow we will go.

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Tomorrow

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