| Laws were they down in the beginning of time
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| Did they decree a great cycle or instead a straight line
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| Who now remembers what was once handed down
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| In this flood of distraction must nobility drown
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| Where these stand now that the center gave way
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| What promess of hope comes forth with each day
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| Are the words just echoes of an angel of lie
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| Never inflating as the end draws nigh
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| Churning and churning in the widening gyre
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| Digging and wallowing in the thickening mire
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| Hard times, much whoredom
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| In dullness, slow pain, or frenzy boredom
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| Like those few who came before
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| I would know yet more
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| Who stands up right now, who walks on all fours
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| In this race with suicide, who’s keeping the score
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| While all gods have yet to play out their roles
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| What new ones will rise from the abyss of your souls
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| Have your ancestors all now withdrawn their hands
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| Theses words from your mouth can they still understand
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| What great tale is the end of man’s quest
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| And if no one knows, can they retrace our steps |