Going through a world of sad debris, Regard quixoitic reveries of ownership: The blossoming disease of man called tenure and accretion, The ancient western treadmill of deception and derision. But I want something more. Racing through a life of tragic wastage, I experience the loss of trust and innocence. The billowing cyclone of time has blown away our reasons As we trudge like blind men forward trying to avoid collision. But I want something... More.
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