there's something with this world
something we can not catch but only see if we stop trying
said the deadly ill
said the one who got punched in the face
and the reunited family making paintings out of ashes fethers and ink
there's something to this world said the widdow
i keep flowing in this imperfect boat
eating fish that reappears untouched
there are a few stars on our way back home
lies we give no atention to
who's fighting
who's dreaming
who's silent
words and hunters are going to sleep
it's time now
it was always time
for the awaken eyes of the so called full of sins
burying what's left from the others and singing lullabies
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