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Skies in motion,
Clouds come and go, push and give, My eyes have no notion of the battle between nature and its thieves. In a motionless yet unstill state I wait for the drops to fall, to break the glasses, The shock of forces released, a faith, A certain belief, The Mob, the awakening of the Masses. Passed by with no perception Of the spectacle of the flesh and matter, There´s a Chosen One, "The Election" It is straight to the Emerging One to break the sketch and the pattern, In the Mass, HE is all they want. First Version 10/05/1991 Last Version 05/31/2005
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