We only get to try it once - living, for the first time
Pencil squiggles, no rubber, every move and mark unrehearsed
A first draft with no back button, restart or practice sketch
I'm right and I'm wrong, each lesson learnt lyrics to a new verse
Some get torn, covered up or thrown out We're handed a fresh page while still holding our scrap
Like a pile of paper you can't tell when's running low
Some chapters we drop where others feel like a trap
Life is funny and complicated - one continuous, squiggly line
It keeps on going and one day, hopefully, we'll see sense in the shapes left behind
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