| Behold that a path is created from these traces of ink,
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| Letters join numbers
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| Sounds come forth manifesting the plasticity.
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| This is the direct outcome of the continuous war
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| The collision of the worlds of change and stability
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| One would sense the mind behind them
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| If only he could withdraw from the relentless alterations of its forms
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| I have swum against rivers of fallacy
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| Chaotic symmetry,
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| And have returned
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| From the point of weakness
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| To the root of triumph.
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| Between the circular entrances of spinning dark suns
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| I travelled with the company of a triangle
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| To the dark corners of cosmos
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| Geometry in static
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| In frozen wells I left my seal for the future travellers
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| Sunken trilithons bear my signature
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| In wombs of yellow on the phosphoric remnants
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| Of organisims with consciousness long erosed
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| One would sense the mind behind them
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| If only he could withdraw from the relentless alterations of its forms
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| Solo: Sotiris |