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you look around and see the frost

the morning is like a bomb,

exploding at tremendous cost

like our galaxy transforming to psalm,

the valley of death amid the glow,

between celestial bleeding palms

and underneath an asteroids blow.

As the future ends and dawn has broke

your ancient symbols fertilize and grow,

and the dawn is just religion waiting to evoke

and every star is a person not knowing their lost

and waking at sunlight is a hard enough yoke

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