In the midst of odd talks
By the people of late walks,
Lies a series of thoughts;
Seldom heard, and seldom felt
Though experienced and often dealt;
Lies a broken knight of fatality;
In the cover of arrogance,
Lies a heart wrapped in innocence;
In the rat’s race called competition,
With or without a reason,
Lies an unknown battle,
Lost already with no vision;
In a silent night on Saturday,
why am I writing this, anyway?
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