The Formers

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The Formers, who will begin to tell them?
The light in their eyes, a pure existence.
Can't begin to imagine the heartbreak
Of knowing they are nothing but substance.

The winding roads, acknowledging the path.
The human mind is a prison for thought.
Breaking apart, and the holding it back.
The bitter sweet of the rising or not.

To muddle the soul, what a sin that is
To walk on the ground of a ruined mind.
Child, my child, why must you grow old?
Humanity there? What a lucky find.

Their feet on the ground, their heads in the sky
The world in between by a watchful eye.
The formers, who will begin to tell them?
Well, maybe not. What a marvelous lie.

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