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Literature Text
Simple numbers dancing in my head,
marching to their own rhythm.
The drum beats on in silent dread,
filling the void in waves of lithium.
The smell of blooming flowers in the air,
beauty of eternity everlasting.
My people fight for what is fair,
to not rob God's treasures without asking.
Both the rational and irrational coexist in the real,
pick and choose and let your heart guide you.
Sit among friends to share a meal,
bound with ties of a love that is true.
See the sun turn black in the west,
see the blood moon rising in the east.
We'll rebuild the world with what is left,
and let the crows enjoy their feast.
marching to their own rhythm.
The drum beats on in silent dread,
filling the void in waves of lithium.
The smell of blooming flowers in the air,
beauty of eternity everlasting.
My people fight for what is fair,
to not rob God's treasures without asking.
Both the rational and irrational coexist in the real,
pick and choose and let your heart guide you.
Sit among friends to share a meal,
bound with ties of a love that is true.
See the sun turn black in the west,
see the blood moon rising in the east.
We'll rebuild the world with what is left,
and let the crows enjoy their feast.
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© 2018 - 2024 ariya-sacca
Comments2
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I appreciate the sentiment here. A kind of caring but sad resignation to rebuilding in the wake of conflict brought about by almost arbitrary choices.