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Immobilized by frozen eyes,
a gaze of amazement,
trailblazers on the pavement,
the worlds in my basement,
to face them, embrace them,
no need for replacements,
'cause greed turns to hatred,
they made it, I crave it,
but I don't have to fake it.
Anticipating my demise,
no time to think about escape.
I don't think i can operate my fate,
I don't feel i can disobey my ways.

I am but a wolf in sheep's clothing.
I am but a trace of knowing.

I walk the streets at night under orange lights,
it's where i feel the most,
and I roam
because I'm a lost star and I don't need a home,
I only need the dark part of my heart.

When I skim through cafés
and poems of better days
I can't disagree
that the tides in which I reside
are awfully fond of me.
let it tickle your fingers,
let it heat up your nerves,
let it light you up tender,
you needn't be reserved

allow it to devour you,
brave to the core you heard,
maybe you'll burn
maybe you'll learn
breathe in the mystery,
the feeling in your gut
recollect - shut up,
take it in - dumb luck

glow in your own,
you're blown, dumb ****
Sometimes, fantasies do end,
but I'd rather pretend,
and not tend to the mend
of a world I don't wanna defend.

All our lives a dream we chase,
not realizing it's right in front of our face.
We try to find the right pace
while being misplaced
- forgotten, without a trace.

Well, if I am to remain
only in the comforting thoughts of the insane,
I might as well be a pleasant mark
that lingers on throughout the dark.
We get a sense, a peek
of a slippery road we secretly seek.
It's new, it's blue,
it makes you confused.
It brings you closer to you.

We get a glimpse, a taste
of something that might be a waste.
Misty and laced with a mystical haste,
much more challenging than all you have faced.
Maybe it's time you got your limits erased.

We get a feeling, a thought
of discomfort in the hiding spot of the heart
- the heart we thought we forgot,
- the heart that was told to shut up.

Painful and tense, it brings us suspense,
and it leads to anger and arrogance.
That itch turns wishes to dreams, hence why it's so hard to welcome romance.
When that which is becomes unlearned,
the coherence of the whispers returns.
One to hide
and one to yearn.

When blood's been spilt and death overturned
the call to ro rise is heard, reaffirmed.
One to bind
and one to burn.

When chains are broken to reveal tales adjourned,
the sleeping winds become the storm.
One to rise,
one to abide.

When the weight of chaos takes its toll
on the one that weaved it in the soil.
One to repent,
one to foil.
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