The mind spins its wheels yet no progress is made. There's a rut in this life, carved by rivers of pain. The rains of time wash the silt away, leaving cobbled Stones in a path run astray. Yet still the waters travel Onwards, never ceasing in their play. Is it fate?
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There's a rut in this life, carved by rivers of pain.
The rains of time wash the silt away, leaving cobbled
Stones in a path run astray. Yet still the waters travel
Onwards, never ceasing in their play. Is it fate?
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