Struggling against a current of worn-down
camouflage is not what makes me free
It's not what's yet to be
It's not what's real to see

Wandering through aimless fatality
can never seem to be
what beauty eyes can see
when life is true to thee

Questioning the toppled dream
can never cease to be
an unreality
so clear and still to me

Running through my grave
will always humble me
and make me wearily
escape the lies in me...

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