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There is an anger comes off this girl, That she can't find an origin, The things i plant won't grow, Yet the wild weeds flower in wind and snow. Nothing to be nothing to prove, Nowhere to go nothing to lose. When will my season come, Was i born of infertile soil, Is my seed without song, Can i not see the woods for these forests in my head, Can i not see the sunlight as i play dead? Nothing to be nothing to prove, Nowhere to go nothing to lose.