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Even when the picture of a rising sun is rested
I’m only a few minutes away from the press
French processes bean me with pressure sometimes unbearable
And I’m left under the water hoping the tide turns back
Yet the day causes me to thrust forward
I’ve got to get out of the tub
Dry myself from the stains of the sun’s rays awakening
To become whatever this day has made me to be
Find productivity where there was none
Find witnesses where the crime hasn’t yet been committed
Then unveil new methods
New thoughts
New…
Until the old rears its head
And the herd within my pockets rumbles into nothing
The decisions I made then are past becoming today’s present
Unveiling themselves also on this sun’s awakening
And I intend to run away
There’s nothing left for me
But to fold into that which I hate
Three walls and a terminal, artificial sun
A sun which makes its own growth
Until I get to that place where even that sun needs to rest
And maybe I can fall with it
Because at least for a few hours
I can retreat back to a place where life is taken care of
And the pressures of an sun don’t brew too long
At least that’s what I hope
Because some things show up in dreams unannounced also.

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