Scars
Fantasies are always free.
Always perfect.
And imagination-well-the soul flies!
Worlds known by none,
but you.
Still life holds many a thorn.
And each gouge must be cleansed,
and bandaged,
again and again.
And for such a long time,
it goes on.
From birth
till death.
Scars nobody,
sees,
but you.
Always perfect.
And imagination-well-the soul flies!
Worlds known by none,
but you.
Still life holds many a thorn.
And each gouge must be cleansed,
and bandaged,
again and again.
And for such a long time,
it goes on.
From birth
till death.
Scars nobody,
sees,
but you.
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