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Mystery To Ourselves

In the ways of the world,
Where do you stand?
On one foot or two?
Are you in command?
 
We're a mystery to ourselves,
Without a clue to detect,
Searching for answers,
In a subconscious context.
 
So recycle the junk,
That has lived in you so long,
Put it through the process,
And you never can go wrong.
 
It's better now than later,
To live with the clock with the aging face,
It always tells the time,
With two hands in a circular race.
 
The wit of our time,
Was carried from the past,
Resting on the shoulders,
Going forward, never back.
 
The procession of this journey,
Moving true and also smart,
The weight of this wit,
I will never let depart.
 



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