Looking toward the end.
Peace died with the birth of man
As reality is routine, my friend.
Among all the dreams,
Behind every door,
From all streams
You find a little more.
You swoon for the night
And feed your fat face.
Begging for the light
That�s lost its sacred place.
On beds of blood we lay.
Being taught for years�
There�ll always be another day
And another puddle of tears.
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