Till all the dead ones know you’re gone - they’ll sweep you and moan for it.
Because lifelines aren’t there for strength, just madness and hassle. It’s sweet.
In time, I’m sure, we will know the restraint on the harbor wind,
or the blessings of courage beside cowards. I won’t be ready, I won’t be there.
We’ll talk in terms of us and them and he and she.
wondering if all the dead ones mock the conviction of self purpose,
desperate individuality makes us different when the hammer hits.
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