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As the vine grows on the rotted oak life goes on, |
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and even as Icarus falls, the world is turning 'round. |
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Albeit small, our time spent breathing |
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is tantamount to something much greater |
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that we may never see, but will always seek. |
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Just out of reach we can see it gleaming: meaning. |
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Chased through the woods |
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by beasts of heavy stride and sharpened tooth |
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(ruthless in their pursuit.) |
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I find hiding from them and stay silent, |
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breathing deep the night that stings my eyes |
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with heavy sighs. |
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Tired, I am losing sight ahead of time and, |
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colliding with a ghost train of thought, I expire. |
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As the vine grows on the rotted oak, life goes on |
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and even as Icarus falls the world is turning 'round. |
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As the vine grows on the rotted oak, I grow strong. |
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I can feel the fire in my bones, |
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and I have opened up |
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to new worlds of possibility |
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that I have never known before. |
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I have evolved into something |
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far beyond that from which I once fled. |
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Others have ascended |
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away from sickness and death |
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(great and nameless.) |
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Through great migration, we've expanded and clasped hands |
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with the best of them. |
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As the vine grows on the rotted oak, I grow old. |
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I remember long ago when we could have saved the world, |
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but instead we built homes out of oil and gold. |
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I remember long ago when we destroyed the world. |
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Still alive, but not alone, those who cherish life will survive. As long as they have breath in them, |
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they will find the way and triumph death. |