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Trust Lust

de NIGHTSKY

The prose of exsistance induces
To think over and to feel emotion
Everything is somehow
Odd and strange different from before

Now you can hear the roaring wind
The screaming vanity
You can see the shadows of the trees
The wash away sounds

Everything is sleep
With the gloomy breath of time
All we buried in the dead level
Of impersonal emptyness

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