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a beast at the edge of its cave, only
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the unwashed swell of rapture
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We are the muezzins of the desert
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He allows things to come and go.
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Listen to me. I am telling you
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The monuments unpictured drift up like watermarks through the odor
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The world has tired of tears.
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Or what is that that makes us seem
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I want a future
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My life can pass like this