I think
As it turns out
Everybody's just looking for inspiration
Sometimes it comes through hate
Often it is found in love
And it is scarce
In our everyday lives
So we try to invent it
Through books and machines
But you can't fake it, you have to feel it
Or it's not real
We try creating it
With perhaps someone else's words
But you can't steal it, you have to become it
Or it's not real
But it seems to me that once we find inspiration
We can do nothing but release it
In religion or in passion or in art
But it never really leaves us, does it?
It is real
You feel it
And it becomes you.
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