The love that a young man grow,
The old can’t see,
The rest don’t know,
And so it lays,
Willful and vague,
Maimed to fall,
Mirrored to beg,
With the rest of them,
Who failed at heart,
And are trapped in pieces,
Miles apart,
In the land of chains, where dreams are naive,
And freedom’s a privilege; for being a slave.
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