Those outdated clichés in two-bit refrains
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Everywhere, do we have to add more rhymes
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To those millions of poems
Rehashed a thousand times
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We're sick of those stories
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Yet each of us got lost in them
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But people pass, and time's futile
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In nights too dark
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When everything wavers and collapses
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Men play at fear
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With the worst, with power, with dying
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At random, at hating or lying to each other, for pleasure
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Men size each other up, dream
And drink and allow themselves
Ridiculous little soldiers
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They challenge each other then slip away
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Amid the ashes and the pain
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And other skies to come
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To give birth rather than destroy
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One of them is mine
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Like unexpected, my providential one
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She makes my life worth it