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    The wind blows the warmth at the back of my ears,
    whispering the words as said and wrote,
    changes which gives a breathing effect,
    I know the will and how to fulfill,
    but i did not.

    Sentence trapped by mummbling whispers
    as a torment, wrapped in sweetness and flakes
    that non were off your shoulders
    where wanderers would have lived on

    The sad face solitude remained
    as much as long as words written
    I took refuge in fate
    where then subsides a hate
    as the road taken were empty
    as punished, i am guilty.


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    why must the fewest of the some were the ones?
    and that i would be blamed?
    and that i would be it?
    the one?
    a blink in the horde?
    a mistake?

    Then if that if I am, I fear not
    for the truth, no hipocrisy and fraud,
    I will keep it in my mind...