Silent echoes galloping in the breeze,
followed by the rustling of the falling leaves,
streets bare to where they unwind too,
darkness my friend is what im inclined too,
the distant voices,
whom,
procreate choices,
have been shunned away to the vast plains,
of my cerebral fortress,
where to were to whom to he,
shall i be forever free,
314 is the key
you'll see
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I would like to translate this poem