Time for the Final bout
Rows of Deserted houses..
all our stable mates are highway bound
Give us our measly sum:
getting the air inside my lung is heavenly.
We're starting out with nothing but crippling doubt
"I have suffered a swift defeat, I will endure countless repeats -- the gift of memory an awful curse" and yet, perhaps in the defeat we find that we truly do not mind - the rhythm of familiar places, emboldened faces and the stretch of an awakening dawn. all that is simple becomes
pertinent -- in embracing a new day.
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