The Book of Lost Thieves
The wind blown ice-lit rolling onA sea of dark white, blue and undulating
The sum of all fortunes comes to clues
Traces pasted anciently
A scrawled phrase tapped
A group sets out unbound
For last is when we see star's light
The tempest churning slows at long
The gradual of sands in glass
Passing astral deviation
Impassioned lashing at the mass
Entombed in living wire connected
After cause that walls collapse
The numbed encumbered rise from backs
A seperate world that flashes fact
When pushed, pursued, we laugh, we act.
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