AtLast_[07]
Fendless men Of senseless sinning Face this bitter mend
Revolution On wheedling, wheeling, turning psychless
Pitched precession severed, Sending us in ever rending Mindless circles of the sun.
Stars
And stars of all infinity! Through skies And skies of ages yet to be
I, look aloft,
But all I see
Are tally stones
Of promise made, tho duty shunned,
Counted,
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