From the beginning of this life
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I sensed a lie told by the wrinkles in the sky
Here lie our sentiments, dreams and hopes
Empty and thin, fade and ill
Too light to break the muddy ground.
No rainow’s end the raindrops found
Small and gray blew in the bitter chill
Winter had come and all the hoary popes
Raised their venerable heads to ask why
In the end of that Word, this knife.
The conscious shape reality.