One despises the narrow ways,
Immense bags of weary mines
Conjoin with miniature stones,
And death instigates hollow nature.
Clearly we saw death as high,
In the coke mines, the coal mines
Of straight nature, a scenery of time.
To drive some melodic event
On oneself terminates the small masses.
This factory puny, that factory mad and screeching,
We are shadows of the same train.
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