| I dislike a lot of things
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| The mundane certainty of things
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| The backstabbing circle of friends
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| The agent with a career to kill
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| The policeman with a quota to fill
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| A lover with a secret to spill
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| The constant feverish delusion of millions reaching for something beyond
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| themselves wanting a larger home
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| The sudden rush of success
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| Celebrity
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| A new body
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| A new face
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| A new chance at the proverbial game
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| The shortcuts to experience
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| From behind a computer screen
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| The anxious typing of empty dreams
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| The constant narcissism in ugly images through the filter of compromise
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| The fake mask to a lowered standard of living no sense of forgiving
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| Only groveling for empty affections
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| Senseless directions
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| And an abysmal assimilation of personal style because a lot of things
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| Come down to taste
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| And taste is found through
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| Decades of wandering
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| Off the path
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| Looking for something beyond
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| The mundane certainty of things
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| Here is where I write it down:
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| Tome Of Tomes
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| Hollowed out bones
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| Ready to be filled
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| With the crush of discovery
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| What is there that we haven’t found?
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| What is beyond the bend of a border town? |
| restless winds
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| The downtown underground
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| Or the country walkabout behind the veil of any landscape soundscape
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| Skyscraper
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| Theatre stage
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| Cemetery gate
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| Cathedral door
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| The pulsating desire for something more Tome Of Tomes
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| Millions of poems
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| Spewed forth and poured over
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| By centuries of former masters
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| The wilting tress of seasonal change
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| The blanching birds and cavernous crawlies the glowing angels
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| And sweating whores
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| The deviant pastors
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| And righteous farmers
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| All diving into the deep
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| Unresolved notion of eternity…
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| Walt Whitman
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| And his pure white beard William Blake
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| And his naked fears Baulderlaire
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| And his fleshly affliction Edgar Allen Poe
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| Spoke the truth about the death of us all
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| The palace of wisdom
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| Is only the rust of the skin the shriveling of the mind the limited sex
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| Disturbed rest
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| Of gut wrenching pestilent mortality
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| God sees all and knows all and is all being all beyond
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| It
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| There lay
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| Nothing at all
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| Unless we are together through it all
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| A combined mass
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| Of the heavenly bodies something supernatural and uncompromising speeding
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| towards the endless cosmos
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| Of endless dreams
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| And endless beginnings of endless endings
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| And endless beings
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| Of endless seeings
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| Of endless freedom
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| Tome Of Tomes
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| Hollowed out bones
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| Of intellectual garbage
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| The rubbish of the soul
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| The scars from growing old
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| The mundane certainty of things the backstabbing circle of friends the
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| unfulfilled marriage bed
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| We are the dreamers of the constant now we are the life blood and the know how
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| I love you more than I ever have I am lucky to have lived this life the way we
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| did
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| Romance
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| Mystery
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| Children
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| And grace
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| There are better things
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| Out there than the knowledge of eternity
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| And the construct of a victorian heaven
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| Lie down
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| Rest
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| Eat until you are spent
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| Gorge yourself on spiritual content run towards the sun
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| Walk naked in the rain
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| Dream underneath broad trees the visions of
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| Angels and demons
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| Struggling to fathom
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| The human race
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| Tome Of Tomes Hollowed Out Bones The Rome of the future was built by a
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| microchip and a stolen apple |