The you who is perfectly sculpted with the aims as high as touching the sky,
Or me who is only watching from far still hoping for her dreams,
These strings who've been plucked,
The sound it vibrates, mellowly reaching for you,
The you who's oh-so-bright,
The you who's oh-so-perfect,
These strings which you've plucked.
Just a something I'm giving to you.
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