=a path through these days=
The curse of a dead bird on the footstep.
Stop to stoop over the dead-life.
Horizon full of death is exploding,
See the gust of unfaith it blasts.
The corner of cruel eyes slashing through
The red sky, the breaking of soul…
The path I take to reach the calm sunset
Through the streets of dawn, noon and dusk,
The path is
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