A/trophy

Some trophy-loves cause atrophy
One nearly was the death of me
And what a fool I came to be
For love

But finding her heart made of stone
I now prefer to be alone
If unknown now I choose the known

Above
All else I choose to remain true
To myself and my own and you
Could do worse than to do this too

Should she read and get wind of this
Then I would feel her stinging kiss
I do not care I am not there
But free

No trophy but no atrophy

+Steven Curtis Lance



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