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The exaltation is shortly lived
as languor begins to set in.
Through the barren court I walk
noticing the Parisian girl drawing empty faces with chalk.
The brass door is heavy as I am engulfed by the crowd,
whose ears are pierced by a loud ringing sound.
The bells toll on and I am in rapture
of the tranquil church whose heart it has captured.
I take my leave, the tear-stains masked by the rain.
Each drop contains a piece of lingering pain.
Such longing for beauty in a hopeless place,
where people are no longer guided by faith.
In the heart of the city of lights,
I find myself guided by spite.
By the hurtful and pretentious ways we live our lives.
We find ourselves prisoners of the chimes.
Such lugubrious nature, we must find inspiration,
So that we can once more, lead this great nation.