Can it be so that every thought has been made
that all our sheets they have been laid
throughout a map of brilliance and time
these words
these thoughts
but a mime
And not to know
for no one dose
that all done
is not done by us
and though we feel effort
and though we see time pass
we are drinking from an empty glass
We think its full
for we understand no better
that we have priced and charged every letter
nothing is made
from what we make
always giving all
all we give we take
Oh what a big mistake...
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