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Words of wisdom wilt with the wonder of wanting and wandering with soft illusion.

Wise men whither and whine about what once was what will be,

Wait - can you hear me?

Are you listening?

The trees are glistening with dew and sorrow.

Historical collective, but more an energy.


Why want when you can

wander with the whipping

wind west like a dove in dirty



Warriors of wonderful sound

win out over waning intentions

and waxing confusions


Desire is weak and unfulfilling


Irrevocably terrifying

To want is not to be


Sans teeth, Sans eyes, Sans soul,

All the world's a stage,

and all the men and women merely players.


But what's it really matter, anyway?

The crickets will continue to chirp,

and cockroaches never die.

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