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This hidden link between us is my vocal cord,
My navel-string, my life-belt and my leash.
To walk this tightrope, I'm half-balanced and half-born.
Two halves -- I follow you, you follow me.
And, walking, I'm afraid of falling from this rope,
Afraid of water, drying from this thirst.
In need of talking, I'm afraid of getting hoarse.
I feed on you, afraid of being lost.
But even more I am afraid to be afraid,
To pull the rope and push your step askew,
To press the navel-string and make you feel the pain.
Two halves -- you follow me, I follow you.
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