The winds of whim
Caress the doubtful mind,
Like a storm on the Ocean's rim
Ripples the water with a mystic chime
Labour toils through mediocrity
And the wait is endless,
when cunningness says to simplicity
You are so shameless.
Do you feel you are so true
That you can stand alone,
I am your inevitable grave
I am your fate that you bemoan.
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