All that glitters isn't gold,
And what is bought can't all be sold,
But when we look to days of old,
Our own mistakes don't seem so bold.
So these empty hands and drunken tears,
And these broken plans and hollow fears,
Are just previews of whats to come,
Of terrors new and wars unwon.
So silence the screaming of my sorrow,
The beating in my breast,
There's nothing more for you to borrow,
And we are cursed yet never blessed.
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