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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Other · #1638692
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Spreading butter over the toast
On this Wednesday morning
Starting out into the day
Wondering come what be, come what may
Dense fog
Constricts the vision
No longer is there a certain path
When the fog lifts
Only then is it clear
Morning dew under the clear blue
Only then is there song
About the future
About what's gone
About what the hell went so wrong
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