Comfortable and poised, we sit on our thrones. We sit on our hands and we let them die. We’re all too blind, we’re blinded by our American eyes. I will not, I will not be idle. Stretch out your hands. Living in a new perspective, everything I once held close I count it all as lost. What is life lived selfishly when nothing goes with me? Hollow and empty. My hands cling far too tight to the things of this life, I’m finally letting go. What is life lived selfishly?
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