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It is a deep sense I feel on the constant
Like breath that anew on foreign continents
Also a crave that I've known for some time
never to lie towards self but lately, rather, subside
The sketch of the shanty is brewing about
Things I thrive most, will fall among fall
It is night and more which thrive this existence,
pestilence, precision, and distance
Noted those traits I felt most accomplished
Never lose self notice, grow like a lotus,
boil in foil, and grind gears of purpose