I’m the one who’s fastidious of the earth misfortune
I’m the one who’s bedridden of the minimum commune
I’m breathing the mountains like a pshaw
I’m shouting at the sky with no flaw
I’m the one who’s prisoned in its own flesh sheath
I’m the one who’s owned an ab-ride (abnormal ride) flow on my lips heath
I’m opening the way for the absence wall
I’m creating my secrecy all in all
Me; that is free and weepy in the aged universe
Me; that is bored of satiation rehearse
My lips and body are getting old, Hand in hand of your sorrow
Like this young old, Stories told in your tomorrow
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