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Literature Text
When will I learn, these tattered rows of memories do not ever fade.
Nor in their plastic facades do they return to former glory.
I hold truth to the facts that life is always as it is, nothing changes but the scenary of the tragedies.
Will I see the face that haunts my dreams in this life or the next
If I woke up and had everything in the world that I ever wanted, would I be happy? No
My desire to be kind has lead me to sacrifice my pride in ways of temperate humility.
I am the streets and the voice of the people. I am the soldier, I am the bison, the wind of willow creek.
Break not my arms, shelter of the highest peaks. I am the second coming.
Nor in their plastic facades do they return to former glory.
I hold truth to the facts that life is always as it is, nothing changes but the scenary of the tragedies.
Will I see the face that haunts my dreams in this life or the next
If I woke up and had everything in the world that I ever wanted, would I be happy? No
My desire to be kind has lead me to sacrifice my pride in ways of temperate humility.
I am the streets and the voice of the people. I am the soldier, I am the bison, the wind of willow creek.
Break not my arms, shelter of the highest peaks. I am the second coming.
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Tonight I found what I had lost, but in the process forgot my intentions.
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