A definite substance prolongs my agony,
In it there is a certain chaos of feeling,
My search is endless in this quaking hour,
My search prolongs the search for everyone.
This reality has become boredom,
Justice steals the treasure from the devil,
Likelihood of differences is huger than sin,
Liking us is the way to the cure.
My real place has shot at the mirrors,
Inputs and outputs stay where they are,
Listening has understood the air,
Let them hear the molecules of awe.
Instead of partners whose decisions
Are arbitrary, the resting is attained
And the losers commit shocking tales
To withstand the crowds in repentance.
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