The face is but a shadow.
It’s signalled when we sleep.
It takes more than we’re granted.
And holds us on our knees.
It’s hidden in our dreams.
We’re dreaming of the future.
To see the change we seek.
When life is but a shadow.
Reality is bleak.
But now the door is open in-between.
Now we lift the curtain.
Of endless folding seems.
There’s nothing but a shadow.
It’s something we can see.
And we can beat the sadness in-between.
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