Off To Prison
The landscape that is made
by the very tapestry we ourselves weave, abides;
as babes we unknowingly absorb
the sustaining juice from the insipid pulp;
we stretch, imagine, we mingle,
our corpus of thoughts and things,
testify to our being;
we ache for a freedom impossible to explain;
so the end like the beginning,
creates another song,
clarified, with different lyri
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