steps behind shadows, a flesh stuffed soul;
some aim high and others go low
in western transactions, jammed in a new culture
hard to escape
hard to escape
that rattish butcher; he carves slowly
in those strange hearts; a different beat.
that amber oblivion embraced
in peace
by the East; hollowed bodies, minimalistic machines
enraptured by light in dark places
they never call back, they never come back
and people can still hear their wavering steps
fading away from the nest, a trail of rejections
a past that needs a replay. 
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