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... return; the gulfs of our lives last mere seasons, but the succor of your miracles is shorter; mere moments.

Why then, do we breed? Why then, shall we have children? Why then, do we seek Heaven?

The road of spreading futures trails out, like blood seeping through cracks, turned to roots. But be any of the paths ours? Be we ever happy?

Oh, my god, my god above all other gods, what reason am I to stay alive, if I am just another rhyme in this unending hymn? Fated to be for ...

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