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something.

in the calmest waves, of the bluest sea

still he hides behind the books he reads

between the lines, the answers clear

beneath it all the hole appears

and he climbs through above the dawn

and throws his troubles on the lawn

layed like seeds to watch them grow

he cares for them but is still alone

no matter how you word it

it still adds up to three

3 days without water

3 minutes to breathe

3 hours without shelter

3 weeks without food

3 months without love to keep up your mood

to him it is numbers

and it distracts from the meaning

words without story

not feeling, just thinking

beware the shackles of language and time

and the hypnotic sirens of rhythm and rhyme

you pluck the strings

it plays a tune

that tells the story of the moon

the one that made those calming tides

where he adds his numbers

and tries to hide



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