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Being a servant to self is like being in prison |
| Such were some of you Looking back on yesterday my tangled mind recalls the youth that I have wasted within these prison walls. - Pastel faces tell it all in words so hard to say what time can only cover but never take away. - Interwoven braids of fear like branches on a tree spread across my aging mind in ways the world can't see. - And the dreams of finding gold have turned the hair to grey as a soft and broken man relives his yesterday. |