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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Other >> ID #1204329 |
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Mary's own way had always been the way of dreams
Dreams of life to which her way could not be seen This way was that of brilliance The brilliance of night and day All days of her life did she have the dreams her way The dreams of contentment Dreams she could not say Mary o dear Mary would never be the same For if Mary had her way the way of what she would say To say that of Mary's way would be death to those with breath No breath would come in life No breath would Mary posses No breath just death at best a mess for Mary's longsome self For the rest of Mary's breath would be breath of death at best And only the best would be left to dream a dream in bed Left for all to say To say as they lay by the bay The bay were Mary stays For Mary is the Queen The Queen of all the lands The lands from which we dream The dreams from all of man These dream from her soul For all her dreams are our dreams And these dreams she dreams no more So now without her dream Mary's life is nothing but pointless A pointless dream or hope that causes Mary to live no more
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