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Saturday, December 26, 2015

Fine like those cities, pretty skins on the street
No, not after all the dreams, others seen
I was more than of nature, mountains and trees
I was selfish yet I was content, I cared nothing
But up on the hills, I remembered
I would escape the time, place or so my duties
But the escape I begged needed more than any fantasy
The truth, I was born within the grasp of the things
And that things could easily wreck my dreams.

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