I am counting it over and over again.
Twenty. Fifty. One-hundred and two?
How many times you said you loved me true.
One thousand, six hundred and five.
How many times you stood there and lied.
Four billion, nine thousand, six hundred and ten.
How many chances I gave you over again.
Eleven zillion, six billion, five million, then some.
How many feelings you have turned and undone.
But one, just one, poor little heart you destroyed.
Although it was not whole before,
Now it can never be restored.
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