In this crazy world of ours
And you ask
"Why don't you fight some?"
And I say
"I pick my battles like flow'rs
and make a grand bouquet
of scars I've had
and bruises bad
enough to make you grimace.
It's called My Soul
It's worn and torn
Like a garment centuries old
Do cast your lots
But I am Not
Ever To Be Sold."
*Note: I almost changed the word "grimace" when I realized I was kind of rhyming, but I decided to keep it. In a way it is saying, "If I were to show you my scars and bruises, you would react in a way you yourself would not have expected to."
I like the idea of picking your battles like flowers.
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