It's all the pain that makes us ask,
why we work so hard on the simplest task.
And if love is not the answer,
we'll never find the cure for cancer.


It's all the crazy that makes us sane,
with no good days, no complain.
For all forgotten we will remain,
with no loss there is no gain.

And for all the song I have composed,
for every thorn on every rose,
for all the tops and all the lows,
from the front through all the rows,
would you kiss me?

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