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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Romance/Love >> ID #1540366 |
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Oh! How the minutes finds their way to days, In a time without change. Time slips through and always finds the doorways Opening to estrange. Empty halls with empty walls lead it there, Here in cold I grow old As time finds its way to going nowhere, Watching darkness unfold. A man built his castle out of wet sand That dried and fell on him. Buried within he took shovel in hand, Digging his way to grim. Time found the man and shoveled him back in To the pain of crazy. There I remain in time that has no spin, Time that won't turn hazy.
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