Sadness and Blindness,
Are bliss of the fool,
Who listens to himself
And not others, as a tool
For he prides himself on
Forethought
For at naught he finds
His mind now gone
For his soul now frayed
His heart unmended
He finds this betrayal
Most uncomprehended
For this overcast of hate
That has befallen his doubt
Now contradicts his mind
All abounds and out
Turntables of dreams
That mix his regrets
Are now toned down
For his heart
Now to forget
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