Who whispers of living, the act of being?
Who whispers of living, the act of being?
We merely inhale, exhale, ceaselessly breathing.
We merely inhale, exhale, ceaselessly breathing.
Flowers bestow hurt, a thorn's sharp sting's kiss,
Flowers bestow hurt, a thorn's sharp sting's kiss,
Wounds are stitched with the prickle of abyss.
Wounds are stitched with the prickle of abyss.
Bitter the wine of time, its cruel, cold draught,
Bitter the wine of time, its cruel, cold draught,
Yet it pours, and we drink, and the sorrow is caught.
Yet it pours, and we drink, and the sorrow is caught.
Each dawn, the night's echo, a phantom's embrace,
Each dawn, the night's echo, a phantom's embrace,
Night then yields to day, leaving light's empty space.
Night then yields to day, leaving light's empty space.
Who whispers of living, the act of being?
Who whispers of living, the act of being?
We merely inhale, exhale, ceaselessly breathing.
We merely inhale, exhale, ceaselessly breathing.
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