The power I need,
yes, the power
I dried,
has left and seized
to be the power I drive;
Happy friends, yes,
lovely lies
turn the tables
on the friendships
that have died;
Promised words, yes,
promises die,
loom amidst
the smiles that peasants
hide;
silent stares,
behind silent eyes,
still remain
after their tears
have dried.
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