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Of sheeps and birds

We wander on yet perish none the less
A part of us might live on inside the present to be the future
As if a time bomb has caressed
Only we know not the limits to our venture

Like a roach of a burnt joint
Is life like
Useless to that point
That it might still be preserved to a lunatic's delight

But I for one, like them flying birds
More so lonely than in a flock or a heard
If sheep are stupid, birds are too
Life is nihilist, all the cheers are 'boo'.

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