Transchild (Demo writing)

He's a boy from a radio
Paints his eyes with silver and gold
No one knows; what he holds

He's got a friend he calls Jim
They hang out in the basement
He'll probably never know; how much they love him

He still says
If love were a medication; how much would you need?
To come cure me
To come cure me

He's a boy that looks like a girl
His mother was never really in the world
No one knows; what he has to say

He's got a black balloon floating in his hands
His fingers brush quickly in the sand; but it's a devious dance; any day

He still says

If love were a medication; how much would you need?
To come cure me
To come cure me

He's gonna get better, eventually
His heart is patiently waiting
No one knows; where he'll be
But he'll see

You never have to be lonely
If you just believe

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