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If these words feel wrong they never felt right…when day and night run together with fright, if our ideals die with the light only raining greyscale empathy against a false cardboard black backing lacking brightness but fondly right with reassuring observations and quick wit and lack of shallow breath our life or our death, if theres hope theres a feeling its all a joke although we know faith brings us answers we already know we want or does it reassure while lack of faith asks for more leaping? Are we sleeping or were we ever awake? As human hands reach out fingers break this illusory dark and let the stars shine out stark

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