Calls from Before

If I were to write a letter to the one that I remember I would etch it on the face of the sky 
If I were to write a sonnet for the boy who lost his wallet I would compose a verse that kept him wondering why 
Because we all find joy in something that encompasses our wanderings 
A word, a quote, a faint remembrance of pride 
But we always miss the problems cause the ego says he'll solve them 
In my years all he's ever done is lied

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