Every night we create worlds
In our dreams,
Knowing well that dreams
Will die most times young,
Other times we carry them
Into the day,
Into our worlds,
And find that the worlds
We created,
Are all the same,
As if, off a factory line.
Yes, it’s the same old game. Coming to this earth, playing the same game and then going back home.
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1 comment:
Yes, it’s the same old game. Coming to this earth, playing the same game and then going back home.
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