As you convalesce:
I'm bleeding from open sores.
Four days ago, you said soon
That we'd hit shore
And finally, we've found this land.
For all the gifts the people give,
Bloody beaches and severed hands
Is what we return.
I'm kind of nauseous.
Either I don't like this,
Or I'm still seasick
And I find it hard,
It's so hard, I'm finding out
You're a liar again
No, I never said enough
You gave me what was never yours.
You know what? I don't want it.
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