Mind is not totally void,
And some says it is a bliss in its entity.
You pretend to be good
And your theory is discarded the next day.
Concept is building,
But the conception is poor.
He is rich,
Misery makes him Beg.
Time runs,
But slows down in rebirth.
You think for certainity,
And the protocol is not defined,
I am standing,
But 'm not static.
You make fire of our soul,
But up to then are reduced to dust.
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