We are but specks,
Floating in vastness.
Insignificant objects.

There's a choice:
To break the chains
Or SWallow the voice-

Finding solid ground
For a restless mind
To be sound-

Putting magic in the hands
Of the choosers
To forward their plans.

The claws of power,
Given to the adored,
Makes sweet go sour-

Producing zeros:
Making villains
Instead of heroes

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