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Who is he, hidden in a non-existing space ?
Time clashes in the ideas of different beings
Leaving not much space for poetry.
He swears to fate but trusts no free will
Like wondering on psychology ?
Piano pieces of the mind are not the roots of thinking
Just bothering the nonsense of his own being
Sometimes a candle of strangeness is hold
In the church of of existentialism
Singing with the priest to the choir of demons
Waiting for the children to run to their home
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