Outside the world is cold, and we grow old.
Love is sharp, cuts my heart.
Hate is cheap, attracts sheep.
Friendship is fragile,
Courage will dazzle,
Unless the cliff is too steep.
But what's that I see only when I sleep?
When my pulse freezes, and my spirit weeps?
Brain waves slow,
there to show,
what I dare not admit to think.
Demons roar, dreams soar, souls pushed to the brink.
The world is cold, and we grow old: the story we are forced to drink.
blink
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