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Stacked up beside a portrait,
Like a dusty idol on a shelf.
Waiting to be found in some one else's story.
Awaiting for reality to shine me on my face.


Oh hear! Oh dear! Dont you hear them shouting.
They're coming down to take us to the hills of the wise.
Where realists build empires around a campfire.
There they will teach us how to live and grow a life.

Oh there you will find,
All the answers to the unknown.
But beware to never question,
The teachings of the tribe.

Cause their words are forged,
In the fires of the loyal.
No matter how may you burn,
Your flames shouldn't cast a light.

A hundred names will you meet;
A thousand faces for every name.
So remember to wear your name with pride;
As you wash away a new face everyday.

Do treasure your pennies,
And count them every night.
If the lights grow bleaker;
Burn the homes of the needy,
And marvel at your treasure,
Shining in the firelight.

And when you hear their children,
Screaming in pain;
Do remember to hold them tight.
Wipe their tears away,
Remember to smile and say,
"Close your eyes and everything will be all right"

When on the hills,
You will learn,
the beauty of love and patience.
But when in doubt,
You are free,
To draw a knife.

Just do remember to learn,
The rules of truth and justice.
For as long your blade is sharp,
Forgiveness will be served,
By the Guardians of the light.

And when you grow old,
Do remember to stay in the dark.
Cause even the guilt can cast,
A shadow so breathing with life.

When on the hills do remember,
Earning its wisdom comes at a price.
A soul to sell, a life to earn;
What is it, to be alive?
Sorry for the tedious length. There was a lot in my mind while writing this.
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September 3, 2016
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